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IT WAS LARRY LOGAN WHO FUMED AND IMPLORED. . . 

I page I44\ 



THE PLAY 
THAT WON 


By Ralph Henry Barbour 

( 

YARDLEY HALL SERIES 
Guarding His Goal 
Forward Pass For Yardley 

Double Play Around the End 

Winning His Y Change Signals 

PURPLE PENNANT SERIES 
The Lucky Seventh 
The Secret Play 
The Purple Pennant 

HILTON SERIES 

The Half-Back For the Honor of the School 
Captain of the Crew 

ERSKINE SERIES 

Behind the Line Weatherby’s Inning 

On Your Mark 

THE “BIG FOUR” SERIES 
Four in Camp Four Afoot 

Four Afloat 

THE GRAFTON SERIES 
Rivals for the Team Winning His Game 

Hitting the Line 

BOOKS NOT IN SERIES 
For the Freedom of the Seas 
Under the Yankee Ensign 
Keeping His Course Benton’s Venture 
The Brother of a Hero The Junior Trophy 
Finkler’s Field The New Boy at Hilltop 

Danf or th Plays the Game The Spirit of the School 
The Arrival of Jimpson The Play that Won 


D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York 


72H 



THE PLAY 
THAT WON 

BY 

RALPH HENRY BARBOUR 

AUTHOR OR 

‘‘»OR THE FREEDOM OR THE SEAS,” “UNDER THE YANKEE ENSIGN,” 

"THE HALE BACK,” ETC. 



ILLUSTRATED 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 


1919 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 

3X APPLETON AND COMPANY 

Copyright, 1918, 1919, by 

THE CENTURY COMPANY 

Copyright, 1916, 1917, by 
PERRY MASON COMPANY 
Copyright, 1918, by 

SPRAGUE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

Copyright, 1919, by 

USE BICYCLE CLUBS OF AMERICA 


otr lb 1919 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©CI.A530798 


© 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBB PAGE) 

I. The Play that Won i 

II. The Great Peck 28 

III. Terry Comes Through 33 

IV. Spooks 101 

V. The Quitter 130 

VI. “Puff" 156 

VII. “Psychology Stuff" 172 

VIII. Billy Mayes’ Great Discovery 196 

IX. The Two Miler 226 


▼ 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


It was Larry Logan who fumed and ^ 

implored Frontispiece 

Then the pistol dropped and they were off 94 

Somewhere in that m&lee was the runner with the 

precious ball 152 

The bridge tender had half closed the second gate 168 


Vll 







THE PLAY THAT WON 


W HEN the knock came Ted was slumped on 
his spine in the Morris chair, the green- 
shaded lamp beside him and a magazine 
propped on his chest. It was Saturday night and 
study was not imperative, for which he was grate- 
ful. The baseball game with Prospect Hill in the 
afternoon had been a hard one, and the victory — 
for Warwick had won in the tenth — had left him 
rather tired, and he had passed up a lecture in the 
school auditorium in favor of rest and solitude at 
home. Which is why the knock on the door brought 
a sigh and a frown. Of course, he might remain 
silent, but the light shining through the transom 
would be a give-away, and the caller might be 
Trev or Corwin with his everlasting stamp album: 
Trev was a sensitive kid and easily hurt. So Ted 
laid down his magazine and said “Come in!” in 
no very enthusiastic tone. To his relief, the visitor 
was Hal Saunders. 


I 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Hello, Bowman,” said Hal, glancing about the 
study. “George around?” His eyes sought the 
darkened bedroom as he closed the door behind 
him. 

“Gone home over Sunday,” replied Ted. 

“Gone home!” Hal’s tone held so much of dis- 
may that Ted wondered. 

“Yes, his father’s been sick for about a week or 
so, and he got leave from faculty. Went right after 
the game.” 

“Gee!” exclaimed Hal worriedly. “He didn’t 
say anything to me about it. I wish I’d known. I 
want to see him about — something important.” 
To Ted’s discomforture he seated himself on the 
window-seat and moodily stared at the lamp. 
“When’s he coming back?” 

“Monday. He got permission to cut morning 
hours. I guess he will be on the twelve-forty-six.” 

“That’ll be too late,” said Hal aggrievedly. “By 
Jove, that’s rotten! I don’t see why he couldn’t 
let folks know he was going.” 

Evidently overwhelmed by the news, he made 
no move to depart. He was a good-looking fellow 
of sixteen, well-made, tall and lithe, with light 
hair and eyes and a fair complexion which even 
2 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

three months of baseball had failed to darken. In 
contrast, the boy in the Morris chair was a year 
younger, shorter, heavier, more compact, with dark 
eyes and hair and a face which, if not handsome, 
was rather attractive in spite of the fact that sun 
and weather had tanned it to the hue of leather 
and that the tip of the nose was peeling. Both boys 
were members of the School Nine, Ted being right 
fielder and Hal first-choice pitcher. They were not, 
however, very good friends. Ted thought Hal 
traded too much on his ability as a twirler. It was 
undeniable that he was an exceptionally good one, 
perhaps the best that the school had ever had, but in 
Ted’s opinion Hal would do well to forget the fact 
now and then. He didn’t understand what his 
room-mate, George Tempest, saw in Hal to admire; 
that is, beyond his playing. Naturally George, 
being captain of the team, would feel kindly toward 
a chap who so often pitched to victory, but he 
needn’t overdo it! Ted was fond of his room- 
mate and so it is possible that jealousy had some- 
thing to do with his mild dislike of Hal Saunders. 

Presently Hal raised his eyes from a frowning 
contemplation of his shoes and Ted was surprised 
at the trouble shown in his face. It was a most 


3 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

unusual thing for the self-satisfied, rather superior 
Hal Saunders to exhibit anything approaching dis- 
composure. In spite of himself, Ted’s sympathies 
were touched. “Was it something about the 
Team?” he asked. 

Hal shook his head. “No, it was — some- 
thing ” He hesitated. Then: “I wanted to 

borrow some money from him.” 

“Oh!” murmured Ted. It was, he reflected, a 
lot like Hal to make a fuss about an unimportant 
matter like that. Perhaps the other read the 
thought, for he suddenly said defensively: 

“I’m in a dickens of a hole, Bowman, and I was 
pretty sure that George could help me out. Now 
I’m blessed if I know what to do!” 

“Won’t Monday do?” 

“Monday morning might, but Monday afternoon 

will be too late — unless ” Hal fell into silence 

again. Ted wondered if Hal was trying to find 
courage to ask him for a loan. He almost hoped . 
so. It would be rather a pleasure to refuse it. 
“It’s Plaister, in the village,” Hal went on after 
a moment. “He’s got a bill of twelve dollars and 
eighty cents against me. I’ve been owing the old 
skinflint some of it since last year. And now he 
4 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


says that if it isn’t paid by to-night he will go and 
get the money from ‘Je rr y*’ And you know what 
that will mean!” 

Ted did know. “Jerry” was the popular name 
for Doctor Morris, the Principal, and when “Jerry” 
learned that Hal had transgressed the very strict 
rule against having bills at the village stores, pun- 
ishment would be swift and stern. Why, Hal 
might be dismissed from school! The very least 
that would happen to him would be probation ! 

“Maybe he’s just bluffing,” offered Ted, but with 
little conviction in his voice. 

“No such luck,” answered Hal. “He’s threatened 
twice before and I’ve begged him off. This time 
he means it. I found a letter from him in the 
mail this noon. I was going to speak to George 
before the game, but there wasn’t any chance, and 
I — I sort of funked it anyway. Besides, I thought 
there was time enough. Plaister won’t do anything 
until Monday. I was pretty sure George had the 
money and I guess he’d have let me have it. I 
meant to beat it over to the village right after 
chapel Monday morning. I hadn’t any idea he was 
going away!” 

“Too bad,” said Ted, more than half meaning it. 


5 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“How the dickens did you ever manage to run up 
a bill like that, Saunders ?” 

Hal shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m always 
buying fool things. Plaister was keen enough to 
charge ’em until he had a nice big bill against me. 
Afterwards, too. It got so I was afraid not to 
buy anything he showed me for fear he’d ask me 
to pay up.” 

“But you get an allowance ” 

“A dollar a week,” said Hal slightingly. “How 
far does that go? Mother sends me a little now 
and then. If she didn’t I wouldn’t have a cent in 
my pocket, ever. I’m a fool about money, and 
dad knows it. And he will know it a heap better 
about next Tuesday !” 

“But look here, Saunders. Won’t Plaister stand 
to lose if he goes to 'Jerry?' Faculty always says 
that shop-keepers giving credit to the fellows will 
be deprived of the school trade. Seems to me 
Plaister will think twice before he risks that.” 

“Oh, he will tell some hard-luck yarn and ‘Jerry* 
will believe him. You know how ‘Jerry’ is. Barks] 
a lot, but doesn’t bite much. Yes, he might be 
scared to do what he threatens, but his letter! 
sounded mighty earnest. He’s got me going, any- 
6 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


way. I say, Bowman, I don’t suppose you — er — 
happen to have ten dollars you’d let me have? I’d 

have to pay it back fifty cents a week, but ” 

“Sorry,” said Ted, shaking his head. To his 
surprise he found that he really was sorry — a little. 
Hal’s gloom enwrapped him again. 

“No, I suppose not. And I don’t guess you’d 
care much about lending to me if you had it. You 
don’t particularly love me. Well, I guess I’ll 
toddle.” He arose and stood uncertainly a moment 
before he moved toward the door. 

“What will you do?” asked Ted anxiously. 
“If — if you get put on ‘pro’ we’ll be in a nasty 
fix! Hang it, Saunders, you’ve got to do some- 
thing, you know. Crouch would last about two 
innings in the Temple game! Why don’t you see 
Plaister to-morrow and get him to wait another 
week? After next Saturday it wouldn’t matter.” 

“I’ve talked to him until I’m tired,” replied Hal 
wearily. “It’s no good. Maybe he won’t do it, 
or maybe I can scrape up the money by Monday. 
I’m tired worrying about it. I’d just as lief get 
fired as have this thing hanging over me all the 
time.” 


7 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Maybe he would take part of it and wait for the 
rest.” 

“He won’t. I tried that. He says he’s waited 
long enough and — oh, a lot of drivel. You know 
the way they talk. Well, good-night. And say. 
Bowman, just keep this to yourself, like a good 
chap, will you? I don’t know why I bothered you 
with it, but I’d rather you didn’t say anything 
about it.” 

“That’s all right. I won’t talk. Good-night. I 
hope you — come out all right.” 

Hal nodded dejectedly and went. Ted took up 
his magazine, but after finding his place in it he let 
it drop once more. If Plaister did what he threat- j 
ened, and Ted knew the hard-featured little shop- 5 
keeper well enough to feel pretty certain that he 
would, it would be all up with Warwick’s chances 1 
for the baseball championship that year. With Hal ■ 
Saunders in the points they might defeat Temple 
Academy next Saturday. Without him they 
couldn’t. Neither Crouch nor Bradford was good 
enough to last three innings against the Blue’s hard- 
hitting team. The knowledge brought real dismay 
to Ted. Personally he wanted a victory for the 
school team, but it was the thought of George’s dis- 
8 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


appointment that moved him most. George, like 
every captain, had hoped and worked for a triumph 
harder than any of the others. For Ted’s part, 
he would go back next year, but this was George’s 
last chance. Ted was miserably sorry for his friend. 
He was such a corking fine fellow. Ted recalled 
the day last September when George, learning that 
fate in the shape of faculty had wished a strange 
and two years younger boy on him as room-mate, 
had acted so mighty decent about it. Lots of fel- 
lows in George’s place, thought Ted, would have 
been mad and grouchy, but George had never let 
Ted guess for a moment that he wasn’t entirely 
welcome. And all through the year George had 
been a perfect brick. He had helped Ted in many 
ways : had got him into Plato Society, helped him at 
mid-year exams, introduced him to nice fellows, 
coached him in batting until he had become pro- 
ficient enough to beat out Whipple for right field 
position. Ted’s feeling for George Tempest was a 
mingling of gratitude and hero-worship that 
amounted to a very real affection, and the thought 
of George’s unhappiness in case the final game of 
Ithe school year went against Warwick troubled him 
l^reatly. Temple Academy had routed Warwick 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


overwhelmingly last year and the sting of that defeat 
still remained. Warwick wanted revenge, and her 
three hundred and odd students had their hearts 
set on obtaining it next Saturday. But to none did 
it mean quite what it meant to Captain Tempest. 
Ted tossed the magazine aside and stood up. “Some- 
thing ought to be done,” he muttered. 

In the bedroom he produced a small tin box from 
its hiding place in a dresser drawer and emptied the 
contents on his bed. Three one-dollar bills and 
many silver coins, when counted, came to exactly 
fourteen dollars and seventy-five cents. He had 
been accumulating the hoard ever since Fall with the 
intention of buying a bicycle when he went home in 
the Summer. When he had about five dollars more 
he would have enough. He hadn’t told Hal that 
he didn’t have the money. He had merely politely 
refused to make a loan. And he had no idea of 
changing his mind. Hal’s fix was no affair of his, 
and Hal could get out of it as best he might. Cer- 
tainly. he couldn’t be expected to give up a whole 
Summer’s fun for the sake of a fellow he didn’^ 
like much anyway ! Resolutely he placed the money 
back in the box and the box again in concealmt 
10 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“He will wriggle out of it somehow,” he said to 
himself. 

Sunday was rainy and seemed weeks long, and 
Ted missed George horribly. He saw Hal Saunders 
at dinner and again in the evening, and it was ap- 
parent from Hal's countenance that he had not yet 
found a way out of his difficulty. Ted went over 
to the library after supper feeling very angry with 
Hal, angry because that youth had endangered the 
success of the nine, because his foolishness was in a 
fair way to bring grief to George, and because he 
had somehow managed to make one Ted Bowman 
distinctly uncomfortable! Ted surrounded himself 
with reference books, but all the work he did 
scarcely paid for the effort. 

Ted did not say anything to George, when the 
latter returned on Monday, about Hal's affairs. 
After dinner that day he received a summons to the 
Office, and although conscious of a clear conscience 
he couldn’t help feeling a trifle uneasy as he obeyed 
it. One didn’t get an invitation to confer with 
“Jerry” unless the matter was one of some impor- 
tance. Events subsequently justified the uneasiness, 
for when Ted closed the Office door behind him the 
second time he was on probation! 

11 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


He could have stood his misfortune better had 
George been decently sympathetic, but George was 
disgusted and mad clear through. “You’ve no right 
to do silly stunts when you’re on the team,” he 
stormed. “You’ve got a duty toward the School. 
A fine thing, isn’t it, to get on ‘pro’ four days 
before the big game?” 

“Well, you don’t think I asked for it, do you?” 
demanded Ted indignantly. “Don’t you suppose I 
wanted to play Saturday just as much as anyone?” 

“Then you might have behaved yourself. You 
know perfectly well that Billy Whipple can’t hit the 
way you can. What did you do, anyway ?” 

“Nothing much. I didn’t really do anything, only 
‘Jerry’ thinks I did and I can’t — can’t prove that I 
didn’t!” 

“That’s likely,” grunted George. “You must 
have done something.” 

“All right, then, I did. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter 
whether I did or didn’t. I’m out of the game. I’m 
sorry ” 

George withered him with a look and slammed 
the door as he went out. 

After that life was hardly worth living, Ted 
thought. George scarcely spoke to him and the 
12 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

rest of his former team-mates were not much more 
cordial. In fact the whole school apparently viewed 
him as a traitor, and he felt like one. Thursday 
morning Dr. Morris announced that hereafter the 
students were not to make purchases at Plaister’s, 
and Ted found a certain ungenerous comfort in the 
shopkeeper's misfortune. In the afternoon, while 
he was studying in his room — he had avoided the 
ball field since Monday — Hal came in with George. 
For some reason Hal appeared to view Ted more 
leniently than the other players did, perhaps be- 
cause, having so nearly attained probation himself, 
he had sympathy for a brother offender. Hal's 
greeting was almost cordial. George's was only a 
grunt. Ted pretended to study, but he was really 
listening to the talk of the others. Presently Hal 
said indignantly: 

“I wonder what they've got against Plaister, 
George. It's a shame to shut down on him like 
that." 

“Some chap's run up a bill, probably," answered 
George indifferently. “Faculty was after him last 
year for giving credit." 

“Well, I'm sorry. The old codger's mighty white, 
and I ought to know it if anybody should. I owed 

13 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


him something over twelve dollars, some of it since 
last year, and he came down on me hard last week 
and said that if I didn’t pay right up he’d go to 
‘Jerry.’ He had me scared stiff, and that’s no 
dream ! I had visions of being fired, or at least put 
on ‘pro,’ and so I came over here Saturday night 
to see if I could get some money from you. I had 
only about two dollars to my name. But you had 
gone home. Bowman offered to loan it to me” — 
Hal winked at Ted’s startled countenance and 
grinned — “but I wouldn’t take it. I tried at least a 
dozen other fellows, but every last one was stoney 
broke. I expected all day Monday to get an invi- 
tation to the Office ” 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” interrupted George 
regretfully. “I could have fixed you up. Better let 
me do it now.” 

“Not for anything,” laughed Hal. “You see the 
old chap never showed up and I had my nervous 
prostration for nothing. All he did do was to send 
me the bill Tuesday morning — receipted!” 

“Receipted !” 

“Yep, paid in full ! Just scratched it right off his 
books. I suppose he thought he might as well. 
Afraid to get in wrong with faculty, maybe. Still, 
14 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


it was pretty decent of him, wasn't it? Of course 
I'll pay him as soon as I can, but he doesn’t know 
that.” 

George agreed that it was decent indeed, but he 
looked somewhat puzzled. The incident didn’t tally 
at all with his conception of Mr. Jabed Plaister. 

Saturday dawned breathlessly hot, and the game, 
set for two o'clock, was postponed until three. The 
wait was hard on the nerves of the players, and 
Billy Whipple, who was to play right field in place 
of Ted, was plainly unsettled. Ted knew of no rea- 
son why he should not enjoy the painful pleasure 
of watching the game, and so, when Loring, the 
Temple Academy pitcher, wound himself up for the 
first delivery, Ted was seated cross-legged under 
the rope behind third base with a very disconsolate 
expression on his perspiring countenance. To-day 
the consciousness of virtue failed more than ever to 
atone for his being out of the game. He strove to 
find consolation in the reflection that there was 
another year coming, but the attempt was a flat 
failure. 

The heat had its effect on spectators and players 
alike. The cheering and singing lacked “pep” and 
the rival teams comported themselves as though 
15 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


their one desire was to get back to the shade of 
the benches. Ted glowered and muttered at the 
slowness of the contest. In the first two innings 
only a long fly by the Temple second baseman that 
was neatly captured by Whipple and a couple of in- 
excusable and innocuous errors livened the dreari- 
ness of the game. The third inning began like the 
preceding ones but promised better when, in the last 
half of it, Warwick got a man to second on the 
first clean hit of the game. The Brown’s cheerers 
came to life then and, although the next batter 
fouled to catcher, making the second out, Warwick 
paid for the vocal encouragement by putting the first 
run across on a hit past third. 

Temple got men on third and second bases in the 
first of the fourth and tried hard to bring them 
home, but Hal Saunders, having allowed a hit and 
walked a batsman, retrieved himself and saved the 
situation by knocking down a hard liner that was 
well above his head. Very coolly and leisurely he 
picked it up, while the man on third scuttled to the 
plate, and threw out the batsman at first. 

The fifth inning went better. The air had cooled 
perceptibly and both Hal and Loring were now 
twirling real ball and the game was becoming a 
16 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


pitchers’ battle pure and simple. When Hal got 
down to business, hits became as scarce as hen’s 
teeth, nor was Loring much behind him in effective- 
ness to-day. Batters stepped to the plate, swung or 
waited and retired with trailing bat. One-two-three 
was the order. The game went into the seventh with 
Warwick’s one-run lead looking very large. Ted, 
his disappointments forgotten, was “rooting” hard 
and tirelessly behind third. Temperature was now a 
matter of no moment. Warwick was ahead, Hal 
was mowing ’em down and victory was hovering 
above the brown banner ! 

It was in her half of the seventh that Temple 
evened up the score. With two gone and first base 
inviolate Temple’s third man up, her chunky little 
tow-headed shortstop whose clever playing had fre- 
quently won applause from friend and foe, waited 
cannily and let Hal waste two deliveries. Then he 
swung at a wide one and missed. The next was 
another ball, although it cut the corner of the plate, 
and, with the score against him, Hal tried to bring 
the tow-headed youth’s agony to a merciful end by 
sneaking over a fast and straight one. But the short- 
stop outguessed him that time. There was a mighty 
crack and away arched the ball. And away sped 
17 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


the batsman. Probably he had small hope of safety, 
for the sphere was making straight for the right 
fielder, but he knew enough not to jump to conclu- 
sions. Which is why, when the ball bounded from 
Whipple’s hands, the runner was almost at second. 
Urged on by the delighted coaches, he slid into third 
a few inches ahead of the ball. 

What caused Whipple’s error I do not know. 
He had the sun in his eyes, of course, but he had 
made a harder catch under like circumstances in the 
second inning. But better men than young Whipple 
have done the same and so we needn’t waste time 
trying to find an excuse for him. The mischief was 
done, and four minutes later the Temple captain 
had tied up the score with a Texas Leaguer back 
of third. 

There were no more hits in the seventh and none 
in the eighth. In the ninth Temple almost won by 
a scratch and an error after Hal had lammed an in- 
shoot against a batsman’s ribs and he had reached 
second on a sacrifice bunt. But the error, while it 
took him to third, did no more, and Hal settled down 
and struck out his tenth man. 

Warwick got one runner to second in her half, 
but he died there and the contest went into extra 
18 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

innings. By this time the sun was behind the trees 
at the edge of the field and a faint breeze was stir- 
ring. Ted was parched of throat and hoarse of 
voice and was alternately hopeful and despairing. 
The tenth inning went the way of the others. Hal 
had two more strike-outs to his credit and Loring 
one. In the eleventh the strain began to show. Hal 
passed the first man up, the second hit safely, the 
third struck out, the fourth laid down a bunt in 
front of the plate. Temple shouted and raved in 
delight. But Hal was still master. Another strike- 
out averted the threatened disaster. Warwick went 
in in her half with Captain Tempest up. George 
tried hard to deliver, but made an easy out, third 
to first. The next batter had no better luck. The 
third was Billy Whipple. Billy was known as a fair 
batsman, although to-day he had signally failed. 
Maybe Loring eased up a trifle. If so he produced 
his own disaster, for Billy picked out the second de- 
livery and everlastingly whanged it! 

In Ted’s words, it went where it would do the 
most good. It fell to earth twenty feet short of 
the gymnasium steps and ten feet beyond the center 
fielder’s eager hands. Billy didn’t make the circuit 
because George Tempest himself, coaching behind 
19 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

third, blocked his path to the plate. There was a 
howl at that, for it did seem that Billy might have 
made it. But playing it safe won out for once, for 
Loring was a bit shaken by that blow at his record 
and Warwick’s next batter hit safely between second- 
and shortstop and Billy romped home. That ended 
the scoring in that inning, but the Brown was again 
in the lead and Warwick shouted and chanted. 

Ted, realizing the effort Temple would make to 
even things up in the twelfth, and knowing that the 
head of her batting list was up, was on tenter-hooks. 
Warwick had the victory in her grasp if she could 
only hold it. But Hal had been showing signs of 
fatigue the last two innings and there had been a 
perceptible let-down. Ted anxiously took counsel 
with himself. Then he jumped to his feet and ran 
around to the home bench. Hal, his face rather 
drawn and plastered with dust in the wrinkles, was 
pulling on his glove when Ted reached him. 

“Saunders,” said Ted breathlessly, “if you can 
hold ’em we’ve got the game!” 

Hal viewed him with disgust and weariness. 
“You surprise me,” he replied, with a weak attempt 
at sarcasm. 

Ted laid a hand on the other’s arm and took a 
20 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

firm grip there. “Cut out the mirth,” he said. “You 
go in and pitch ball, Saunders. Get me? Don’t 
you dare let up for a second. If we ” 

Hal shook him off. “What’s wrong with you?” 
he demanded. “Sun-stroke? You’re a fine one to 
make cracks like that! Beat it, kid!” 

“Listen to me,” said Ted earnestly, dropping his 
voice. “If Temple wins this game I’ll go to ‘Jerry’ 
and tell him what I know. I mean it, Saunders !” 

“Why, you little rotter!” gasped the pitcher. 

“That’s all right. You heard me. You pitch 
ball, Saunders!” 

“I’m going to,” sputtered the other, “and when 
I get through I’m going to knock your silly block 
off. Now get out of my way!” 

Ted went back to his place well satisfied. Saun- 
ders was mad clean through and Saunders would 
pitch real ball! And Saunders did. Not since the 
game had started had he worked more carefully, 
more craftily, and although he had three hard hit- 
ters to put aside he never faltered. Up came the 
Temple third baseman — and back again to the bench. 
The Blue’s captain followed him and, although 
he brought Ted’s heart into his mouth four times 
by knocking fouls, he, too, had to acknowledge 
21 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

defeat. Temple was frantic now as she saw defeat 
impending. For luck she sent a substitute player in 
for the third batsman and Hal promptly put his | 
first two deliveries across for strikes while tri- 
umphant Warwick howled with delight. Then a 
ball, and another one, and 

“He’s OUT !” cried the umpire. 

It was after eight. The riotous celebration had 
dwindled to mere sporadic outbursts of joy out on 
the campus. Ted was talking with George on the 
window-seat in their study. The victory had put 
the captain in high spirits and since dinner he had 
returned to the old footing with his room-mate. 
They had talked the game over from first play to 
last, and Ted, happy in the renewal of friendly re- 
lations, was seeking a fresh topic lest George 
should become bored with his society and go away 
when there was a knock at the door and Hal strode 
in. Recalling the threat he had made, Ted viewed 
his appearance with some apprehension, but Hal 
showed no intention of removing Ted’s “block” in 
the designated manner. 

“I got something to show you fellows,” an- 
nounced Hal, striding across to the window. “Look 
22 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

here. Read that. No, wait a minute till I tell you.” 
He drew back the sheet of paper he had thrust to- 
ward George. “I thought it would be only the 
decent thing if I thanked Plaister for cancelling 
that account, see? So yesterday I wrote a nice little 
note and mailed it to him. This is what I got in 
answer. Found it in my room after supper. Read 
it out loud, George.” 

“ ‘Jabed Plaister, General Emporium, Dealer 
in ’ ” 

“Never mind that,” interrupted Hal impatiently. 
“Read the writing.” 

“If I can,” agreed George. “Let's see. ‘Dear 
Sir: Yours of like date to hand. I gave the other 
boy a receipted bill and I don’t know what you are 
talking about unless you are trying to get funny 
and I’ll tell you plain there's a law for such as you. 
And if you hadn't paid I would have seen your 
principle just like I said I was. Lucky for you you 
did. Respectfully, Jabed Plaister.' Not so very 
respectful, either! Well, what about it, Hal?” 

“Don’t you see? Someone paid that bill. I 
didn't. Who did ? That's what I came here to find 
out.” He turned suddenly to Ted. “Did you?” he 
demanded. 


23 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Ted stared back blankly. 

“Did you?” insisted Hal. “You did! What for? 
Why ” 

“He hasn’t said so,” interposed George. 

“He doesn’t need to. He isn’t denying it, is he ? 
Besides, he knew about it. Look here, Bowman, I’m 
much obliged, of course, and all that, but I don’t 
understand why — after you'd refused me that 
night ’’ 

“Well,” said Ted at last, slowly, seemingly seek- 
ing inspiration from his shoes, “I knew that if you 
got fired or put on probation and couldn’t pitch to- 
day we’d get licked. I — I ought to tell you frankly, 
I guess, that I didn’t do it on your account, Saun- 
ders. There was the School to consider, and — 
and George. I knew he’d be all broke up if we 
lost the game. I had the money put away for — 
for something, and so I decided that if Plaister was 
really going to make trouble I’d pay him. I met 
him on the road Monday morning right after break- 
fast. I tried to get him to take five dollars, but 
he wouldn’t, and so I paid it all and he gave me 
the receipted bill. I ought to have told you at once, 
but — well, I was sort of peeved at you and I didn’t. 
Finally, when it got to be supper time and I hadn’t 
24 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

told you, I was ashamed to, and so I stuck the bill 
in an envelope and put it in the mail. That’s all; 
except that someone — I guess it was 'Granny’ Lock- 
wood : he’s always mooning around the landscape — 
saw me give the money to Plaister and told 
'Jerry.’ ” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then George 
said: "But you could have told 'Jerry’ the truth, 
Ted.” 

"What good would that have done? He’d have 
put Saunders on 'pro,’ and that’s just what I was 
working against. Don’t you see?” 

"Mighty white,” muttered Hal. 

"I wish you had told me, Ted,” said George. "I 
talked a good deal of rough stuff. I’m sorry, kid.” 

"That’s all right,” said Ted. "You didn’t know. 
You see, I’d promised Saunders not to talk 
about it.” 

"Bowman, you’re a perfect brick,” exclaimed Hal. 
"I know you didn’t do it on my account, but you 
got me out of a beast of a hole, and — and I’m 
mighty grateful. And you’ll get that money back 
just as soon as I get home. I’ll tell dad the whole 
story and he’ll come across, never fear. Of course 
I’ll have to promise to keep inside my allowance 
25 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


after this, but I guess I’m about ready to, anyhow. 
Last Monday I’d have promised anything! And 
I'll see ‘Jerry’ at once ” 

“There is no sense in doing that,” interrupted 
Ted. “There’s only four more days of school and 
I don’t mind.” 

“But you’re in wrong with faculty ” 

“Not very. ‘Jerry’ was awfully decent. Said my 
record was so good he wouldn’t be hard on me. 
There’s no use in his owning up, is there, George?” 

“No, I don’t think there is,” answered George' 
after a moment’s consideration. “Ted’s taken your 
punishment and you’ve learned your lesson — I 
hope.” 

“I have,” agreed Hal, emphatically. “But it 
doesn’t seem fair to — to Ted. He was done out 
of playing, and a lot of fellows think hardly of 
him ” 

“Shucks,” said Ted, “I don’t mind. You fel- 
lows know how it was, and the others will forget 
by next Fall. And we won. I’m satisfied.” 

“We won,” said George, “because of what you 
did, Ted, and for no other reason. I don’t see any 
way to give you credit for it without getting Hal 
26 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

into trouble, but there’s one thing I can do, and I’m 
going to do it.” 

“What?” asked Ted uneasily. 

“See that you get your W.” 

“Bully!” applauded Hal. “Only, do you think 

you really can? If Ted didn’t play ” 

“Who says he didn’t?” demanded George. “He 
must have. It was his play that won!” 


THE GREAT PECK 


E IGHT of us were in Pete Rankin's room that 
| night, all f reshies and all candidates for the 
’21 football team, unless you except this fel- 
low Harold Peck that I'm telling you about. Jim 
Phelan had brought him along, because, he said, he 
looked lonesome. Jim had planned to room with a 
chap he had chummed with at Hollins, but he had 
failed in exams and faculty had stung him with Peck. 
That's one drawback to rooming in the yard at 
Erskine: you can’t always choose your roommate. 
Peck was sort of finely cut, with small, well-made 
features, dark hair and eyes and a good deal of 
color in his face. And he was a swell little dresser. 
Rather an attractive kid, on the whole, and maybe 
a year younger than most of us there. He didn’t 
make much of a splash that night, though, for he 
just sat quiet on Pete’s trunk and looked interested 
and polite. Being polite was Peck’s specialty. I 
never knew a chap with more different ways of 
thanking you or begging your pardon. 

38 


THE GREAT 'PECK 

We were mostly Hollins or Enwright fellows, 
and we were there to get the freshman football 
team started. Dave Walker, the Varsity captain, 
dropped in for a few minutes and helped us out; 
and after he had gone again we got to talking about 
our chances of turning out a good enough eleven 
to beat the Robinson f reshies, and who would play 
where, and one thing and another, and presently 
Bob Saunders, who had played half for Enwright 
last year, asked: “What have we got for quarter- 
back material, fellows ?” 

Trask, another Enwright chap, said: “Kingsley,” 
but no one enthused. Tom Kingsley had been a 
second choice quarter on Trask’s team and had been 
fairly punk, we Hollins crowd thought. Pete Ran- 
kin yawned and said he guessed we’d find a couple 
of decent quarters all right, and Jim Phelan said, 
sure, you can always catch a quarter when he was 
young and train him. 

“I think I’d like to try that job,” I said. “I guess 
it’s easier than playing tackle. You don’t have to 
exert yourself. You just shove the ball to someone 
else. It’s a cinch !” 

“You’d make a swell little quarterback,” laughed 
Pete. “You’re just built for it, Joe.” 

29 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

‘Well, Pm down to a hundred and eighty-one and 
a half ” 

“I don’t think I ever saw a cracker jack quarter,” 
Jim Phelan butted in, “who wasn’t sort of small. 
Did you, Pete? Remember Warner, of two years 
ago? He was my notion of a properly built lad for 
the quarter. Wasn’t he a wonder?” Pete said yes, 
and “Toots” Hanscom, who will take either end of 
any argument you can start, tried to prove Jim all 
wrong, and then everyone took a hand. But Jim is 
stubborn, and he hung out for the small kind. “Take 
a chap like — well, like Peck there. If he knows the 
game he will play all around your heavy man or 
your tall one.” 

Everyone turned to size Peck up, and he looked 
embarrassed, and Toots sniffed and asked him his 
weight. 

“About a hundred and forty-two, I think,” said 
Peck. 

“Thought so. He’d have a swell chance, Jim, 
against those husky Robinson f reshies!” 

“Sure he would,” answered Jim, stoutly. “I 
don’t say he’d be a marvel at plugging the line, but 
I do say that if Peck was a football man a good 
coach could take hold of him and make a rattling 
SO 


THE GREAT PECK 


good quarter of him. It isn't beef that counts in a 
quarter, Toots. It’s brains and pep and knowledge 
of football.” 

“Piffle! Peck wouldn’t last five minutes!” 

“Better induce Mr. Peck to come out,” suggested 
Monty Fellows. “Then we can see wdio’s right.” 

Jim started to hedge. “I didn’t say Peck was the 
man. I said a fellow of his size and build. Peck 
isn’t a football player, and so it wouldn’t prove any- 
thing if he tried it.” 

“Haven’t you ever played at all, Mr. Peck?” 
asked Pete. 

“Oh, yes, thanks,” replied Peck. “We had a 
rather good football team at my school and I — er — 
I tried for it year before last. But, of course, I was 
pretty light, you see ” 

“You could soon beef up, I’d say,” said Pete. 
“Maybe you’d have better luck this time. Had you 
thought of it?” 

“Why — why, I did mention it to Phelan, but he 
thought I’d better wait until I was a bit 
heavier ” 

Everyone laughed at Jim then, and Jim tried to 
explain that he hadn’t thought of Peck as a quarter. 
“Just the same,” he said stoutly, “I wish he would 
31 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


come out and try for the position. I’ll risk it ! I’ll 
bet he will make good! Come on, now, what price 
f Peck?” 

“Oh, really,” began Peck, “you mustn’t hope 
much of me, Phelan! You see ” 

“That’s all right ! You agree to try for the quar- 
terback position and do as you’re told and work 
hard and ” 

“And grow a few inches,” said Toots slyly. 

“And I’ll guarantee that you’ll be third-string 
quarter or better by the end of the season! What 
do you say?” 

“Why, it’s very flattering,” answered Peck, look- 
ing around and smiling deprecatingly. He had a 
nice smile, had Peck. “But I’d be awfully afraid of 
disappointing you.” 

“I’ll risk that,” said Jim. “You show up to- 
morrow at three-thirty, then.” 

Peck murmured something that sounded like con- 
sent and Jimmy Sortwell asked: “Where is your 
home, Mr. Peck?” 

“Winstead, Maryland.” 

“Oh,” said Jimmy. “I asked because I wondered 
if you were any relation to the Peck who played 
on the Elm Park High School team last year.” 


32 


THE GREAT PECK 

<f What is his first name, please ?” asked Peck. 

“I don’t know that I ever heard it. 1 never met 
him, but the team came on from Chicago last 
December and played a post season game with one 
of the Boston teams and licked the stuffing out of 
them. This fellow Peck was quarter, and he was 
a wonder. Don’t you fellows remember reading 
about him? Some of the papers in the East here 
made him All-Scholastic quarter, and that’s going 
some, for they hate to name anyone west of 
Albany !” 

“Seems to me I remember something about a re- 
markable quarter on some Western team that played 
around here last year,” agreed Pete. “Don’t recall 
his name, though.” 

“It was probably this fellow I’m telling of. He 
wasn’t much bigger than you, either, Peck, I’d say. 
Perhaps a little heavier, eight or ten pounds. He 
was a stunning player, though, a regular marvel. 
And that sort of helps out your contention, Jim.” 

“I don’t believe I have any relatives in the West,” 
said Peck. “Of course, there might be some distant 
ones ” 

“Well, if you take after your namesake,” 
laughed Burton Alley, “we won’t kick a mite !” 

33 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Thanks,” said Peck, “but, of course, you 
mustn’t expect much of me. There’s a great deal 
to learn about football.” 

“Well, there’s more to it than croquet,” said 
Toots dryly, “but don’t let that scare you. With 
Jim looking after you you ought to get along fine!” 

“Really, do you think so?” asked Peck, grate- 
fully. “Thank you ever so much !” 

We had a whooping big freshman class that year 
and didn’t expect much trouble in finding all the 
material we needed. But we had reckoned without 
the war. A lot of fellows were so full of it that they 
couldn’t see football. There was talk of introducing 
military training at Erskine, too, and although that 
didn’t come until later, there was a lot of excitement 
over it. Of course, we were all strong for the mili- * 
tary stuff, but some of us couldn’t see the necessity \ 
for making the world safe for Democracy before 
we had knocked the tar out of the Robinson fresh- * 
men. It was more than a week after college had 
started when we finally got four full squads to- ! 
gether.. The Athletic Committee assigned us a 
Graduate School chap named Goss as coach. He • 
had played tackle for Erskine three years before. 

34 


THE GREAT PECK 

We didn’t cheer for him much at first, but he turned 
out fine. He wasn’t much on the up-to-the-minute 
stuff, but he was a corking tactician and hard as 
nails when it came to discipline. And he was so set 
on teaching the rudiments before the frills that we 
were soon calling him “Old Rudy.” 

Faculty held us down to a six-game schedule, 
which was a shame, for we could have licked any 
team of our weight in New England. Besides, the 
Varsity was all shot to pieces, because so many last 
year men had enlisted, and was a sort of a joke, 
and we always took the crowds away from her. We 
were really the big noise that Fall and should have 
been allowed a decent schedule. Of course, every 
good team has its troubles, and ours began after 
the Connellsville game. We beat her, all right, but 
she laid up two of our best linesmen and proved 
that neither Kingsley nor Walker was the right man 
for quarter. We had two other candidates for the 
position in Ramsey and Peck. There wasn’t much 
to choose between them, it looked ; only Peck had a 
good press agent and Ramsay hadn’t. Jim Phelan 
was still backing his roommate strong. Toots 
Hanscom told us that Jim was coaching Peck for 
an hour every evening. Said he dropped into their 
35 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


room ifi McLean one night and found Jim holding 
the book on Harold and putting him through a regu- 
lar exam ! Anyhow, Peck was certainly coming all 
the time, and when we met the Taylor f reshies the 
next Saturday he had his chance in the third period. 
He got mixed a couple of times, but I couldn’t see 
any signs of nervousness, and he surely made us 
hump ourselves. And he played his position mighty 
well besides. Jim certainly had no kick coming 
against his pupil, for Peck played good football that 
day, barring those two mistakes in signals, and 
ended up in the last three or four minutes with as 
pretty a forward pass to Trask as you’d want to see. 
Trask didn’t quite make the goal line, though, and 
so we accepted our first defeat, Taylor nosing out 
12 to ii. But we’d played good ball, and we knew 
it, and the school knew it. And you can bet that 
Taylor knew it, too, for she was just about all in 
when the whistle sounded. 

Peck got quite a lot of kind words that day, 
and Jim Phelan went around saying “What did I 
tell you?” and making himself generally obnoxious. 
But that didn’t win Peck the quarterback position, 
for Kingsley was still the better man, especially 
when he was going well, and young Peck went back 
36 


THE GREAT PECK 


to the second squad Monday, and Jim spoke darkly 
of “bonehead coaches/’ More trouble developed 
that week: Wednesday, I think it was. Pete Ran- 
kin — I forgot to say that we’d elected him captain 
without much opposition from the Enwright crowd 
— hurt his knee in a scrimmage and had to lay off. 
And one or two other chaps went wunky and so 
Townsend Tech didn’t have much trouble with us, 
three days later. Kingsley started at quarter and 
Peck didn’t get a show until the last of the third 
period. Then he played the same nice game he’d 
played the week before and speeded us up so that 
we managed to score our second touchdown. And, 
considering that we had six second- or third-string 
fellows in the line-up by that time, that wasn’t so 
poor. And 1 1 to 20 didn’t sound as bad as 7 to 20, 
either. So Peck got the glad hand in the locker 
room afterwards and old Rudy stopped him on his 
way to the showers and spoke kind words. 

By that time the college was beginning to sit up 
and take notice of Peck. Fellows asked where he’d 
played before, what school he’d come from and so 
on. No one seemed to know, and when you asked 
Peck himself he was sort of vague, and so blamed 


37 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

polite that you didn’t have the crust to keep on ask- 
ing. But I made out that he’d skipped around be- 
tween two or three schools down Maryland way, 
and I believed it until two things came off simulta- 
neously. The first was Peck’s sudden “arrival” in 
football. It occurred the Thursday after the Town- 
send fracas. Kingsley was suffering from shell 
shock by reason of having been slammed around by 
big Sanford, the Townsend fullback, in the third 
quarter, and old Rudy started Peck when the scrim- 
mage began. Well, I don’t know what had got into 
little Harold that day ; or I didn’t know then. After- 
ward I thought I had an inkling. Anyway, he was 
a revelation. Pete Rankin said awedly that Peck 
was a composite reincarnation of Eckersall and 
Daly. So far as I know, those two old-timers are 
still alive and kicking, but you get Pete’s idea. He 
meant that Peck was a peach of a quarter that day; 
and that goes double with me. We went up against 
the Varsity scrubs, and they were a heavy, scrappy 
bunch, even if they didn’t have much team play. 
Peck seemed to sense just the sort of medicine that 
would do ’em the most good, and he proceeded to 
dose it out to them right from the kick-off. He 
used Saunders and Hanscom for play after play 
38 


THE GREAT PECK 

until we were down to the scrub’s twenty-yard line, 
bringing Hanscom around from right end and bust- 
ing him through left tackle. He and Saunders were 
light and quick, and they got the distance in three 
plays regularly. Then, down on the twenty, he 
switched to his other backs, Fellows and Curtis, and 
piled ’em through to the two yards. The scrubs 
pulled themselves together then, and two tries failed 
and Peck gave the pass to Curtis for an overhead 
heave to Saunders. But Bob was spilled in his 
tracks and, with three to go and one down left, 
Peck faked a try at goal and kited around his left 
end with the pigskin cuddled under his elbow and 
slipped across the line near the corner very nicely. 

Four minutes later we scored again. The scrub’s 
kick-off was short and I wrapped myself around it 
and busted along for nearly twenty yards and landed 
! the ball on the forty. Then Saunders slipped up for 
the first time and Peck tried a forward to Hanscom 
that grounded. Curtis smashed through for four 
and then Peck took the law into his own hands again 
1 and, faking a pass to Saunders, hid the ball until 
' the scrubs were coming through. Then he found 
j his hole, slipped right through the middle of the line, 
i ducked and squirmed past the secondary defense 
39 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


and raced off straight for the goal. And believe 
me, that kid could run ! The scrub quarter was the 
only man with any license to stop him, and Peck 
fooled him near the thirty yards, and went right on 
and placed old Mister Pigskin squarely between the 
posts. 

Pd got sort of roughly handled by the big mutts 
when they stopped me after I’d caught the kick-off 
and Old Rudy yanked me out, and so I didn't see 
any more of the scrimmage. But they said that 
Peck kept it up right to the end, making another 
corking run from near the scrub's forty to her five, 
and handling the team like a veteran. Monty Fel- 
lows, who could spill language that would gag you 
or me, said that Peck was inspired and that he had 
“indubitably vindicated Phelan's contention." I 
thought so, too, though not in just those words, and 
so when I ran across Jim on the way to College 
Hall after dinner that evening I started to hand him 
a few bouquets. But he only grunted and looked 
peeved, and I eased up and asked: “What's jangling 
your heart strings, Jim? I should think you'd be 
pleased to see little Harold vindicating your — er — 
whatyoucallems." He sometimes called him Harold 
to annoy Jim. 


40 


THE GREAT PECK 

“You would, eh?” growled Jim. 

“Sure I would ! Haven’t you toiled with the kid 
all Fall and taught him all he knows and every- 
thing?” 

“I thought so,” said Jim significantly. 

“What do you mean, thought so?” Who else is 
responsible? Of course, I’m not saying Peck 
wouldn’t have learned football after a fashion even 
if you hadn’t ” 

Jim laughed harshly, like a villain in a play. “Say, 
Joe, you do a lot of talking with your mouth some- 
times, but maybe you can keep a secret. Can you?” 

“Secrecy’s my middle name. Shoot !” 

And after a minute Jim shot. “He fooled me, all 
right,” he began ruefully. “I thought he was as 
green as grass and even when he’d learn a thing too 
blamed quick to be natural I didn’t suspect. I said, 
Tt’s just natural football instinct he’s got. You can’t 
explain it any other way.’ Wasn’t I the bonehead?” 

“Sure! But what ” 

“Listen. This morning I wanted a collar stud. 
Mine had rolled under the bed or somewhere and 
it was late. So I pulled open Harold’s top drawer. 
I knew he had a little fancy-colored box there where 
he kept studs and things and as he had gone to 
41 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

breakfast I thought I’d just help myself to one. 
What do you suppose was the first thing I saw when 
I lifted the lid?” 

“Great big snake ?” 

“Cut the comedy! One of these little gold foot- 
balls you wear on your watch chain!” 

“Well?” I asked, not catching the idea. 

“There was engraving on it and I read what it 
said. ‘E. P. H. S., 1917/ Joe! What do you know 
about that?” 

“Still I don’t get you. What’s E. P. S. stand 
for?” 

“E. P. H. S., you dummy! Elm Park High 
School ! Don’t you remember Sortwell telling about 
a fellow named Peck who’d played with Elm Park 
and asking Harold if he was any relation?” 

“Oh!” said I. “Now I savvy! But, look here, 
Jim, you don’t think Harold’s this Elm Park star! 
Why, didn’t he say ” 

“No, he didn’t,” answered Jim sourly. “He was 
mighty careful not to. He said maybe Peck was 
a distant relative or something. And he let me teach 
him how to play quarterback ! Must have had lots 
of good laughs at me, eh? If I hadn’t been an utter 
idiot I’d have tumbled to the truth long ago. Why, 
42 


THE GREAT PECK 


no one could pick up the game the way he has! 
Look at the way he played to-day ! He fooled the 
whole bunch of us, anyway. I wasn’t the only 
come-on. Only, why? What did he do it for?” 

“Search me! But look here, what does he say? 
Has he fessed up?” 

“He hasn’t said anything because I haven’t. How 
can I ? Borrowing a chum’s collar stud is all right, 
but when you run across something you’re not sup- 
posed to know about you keep your mouth shut. 
If I told him I was helping myself to a stud and 
happened to see that gold football, what would he 
think? He’d think I’d been snooping, of course. 
But I don’t need to ask him. It’s as plain as a pike- 
staff. That football is one of those given to the 
members of last year’s victorious Elm Park team. 
I looked up the record. They played eleven games 
and won all but two. And Harold was quarter- 
back and was a regular James H. Dandy. And now 
you know why I'm a trifle peeved, Joe. Wouldn’t 
it set you back some to find that you’d been teach- 
ing the fine points of football to last season’s All- 
Scholastic quarterback?” 

I said it would. Then I asked Jim what he was 
going to do about it and he said glumly: 

43 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Pm going to keep my mouth shut, and so are 
you. What he wants is for us to find out we’ve 
been fooled, so he can have the laugh on us. Noth- 
ing doing! If he wants to come out as the Great 
Peck he can do his own announcing. Then I’ll tell 
him I knew it all along, and the laugh will be on 
him, hang him!” 

We chinned some more and then I left him. In 
a way, thought I, it was sort of mean of Peck to 
put it over on Jim like that, but at the same time 
it was funny, and I had to chuckle a bit now and 
then for the rest of the evening. It was a shame 
not to tell the other fellows, too, but Jim had made 
me promise to keep quiet and so I couldn’t. But 
I got some fun out of it, for the next afternoon I 
overhauled Harold going over to the field and I said 
to him : 

"It’s funny, but you remind me an awful lot of 
that chap who played quarter for Elm Park last 
year. You look a lot like him around the eyes. 
And the lower part of his face, too. His name was 
the same as yours, you know.” 

"Really?” he asked, most polite. "Elm Park is 
out near Chicago, isn’t it?” 

"Yes, but the team came East last Fall for a post- 
44 


THE GREAT PECK 

season game. You said you weren't related to him, 
didn't you?" 

“I don’t think I said just that," replied the fox. 
“I'd hardly dare to. As a matter of fact, our fam- 
ily has relations in the West, although I’ve never 
heard that any of them lived in Chicago." 

I didn't want to give the snap away, so I shut 
up then, but I couldn't help admiring the way he 
carried it off. Never batted an eyelash ! Some boy, 
Harold ! 

They made him first choice quarter then and he 
was never headed all the rest of the season, 
although Kingsley and Ramsey tried their hardest 
to overhaul him, and he kept getting better and 
better right up to the Robinson game, running the 
team for all that was in it and never letting a game 
go by without pulling off a few fancy stunts on his 
own. I could see that there was a coolness between 
him and Jim Phelan, but it seemed to me that Peck 
was still unsuspecting that his secret was discovered. 
So I guess he often wondered why Jim had stopped 
giving him pointers and being chummy. Of course 
they were still friendly and all that, but Jim couldn't 
forget that Harold had put one over on him. And 
45 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


so things stood when we faced the Robinson fresh- 
men in the final game. 

As the fellow said about the war, we had a good 
day for it: cold and snappy, with almost no wind. 
Robinson brought over a big bunch of rooters and 
a good many of our own old boys came up for the 
game. And there was a sprinkling of khaki, too, 
for some of the grads were in service; and even the 
Navy was represented by a Reserve lieutenant. He 
was a corking looking chap, and when I ran across 
him just after lunch he reminded me so much of 
Harold Peck that for a minute I thought it was 
Harold got up that way for a joke. But he was 
bigger than Harold, and a couple of years older, I 
guess, and when I’d had a second look at him the 
resemblance wasn’t so strong. Still, it was there, 
and when he stopped and asked me which was 
McLean Hall his voice sort of sounded like Har- 
old’s. Anyway, he was a corking, clever-looking 
lad, and I got to wondering how one of those blue 
uniforms would look on yours truly. 

I’m not going to bore you with the game in detail. 
It was some game, but you’ve watched many better 
ones. Robinson got the jump on us at the start 
and scored a goal from our twenty-eight yards. I 
46 


THE GREAT PECK 

guess we had stage fright or something, for we sure 
played like a lot of kids in that first period. Even 
Pete Rankin got temperamental and fell over his 
own feet time and again, and young Peck tried hard 
to show how not to play quarterback. But Robin- 
son’s score was just what we needed, for in the 
second period we pulled ourselves together and 
inched along for the goal line and finally pushed 
Curtis over for a touchdown. We were pretty well 
started on the way to a second when time was called 
for the half. As Toots Hanscom had missed goal, 
the score was 6 — 3 when we crawled back to the 
gym. We thought we’d done pretty well until Old 
Rudy started at us. Then we realized that we 
weren’t much better than a gang of Huns. He cer- 
tainly did take the skin off ! According to him Rob- 
inson should never have scored and we should have 
had twenty-one points tucked away. At that, he 
wasn’t so far wrong, for we had surely pulled a lot 
of dub plays in that first fifteen minutes. Anyhow, 
when he’d got through with us we were ready to go 
back and bite holes in the Robbies! 

The third quarter gave us another touchdown, 
and this time Toots booted it over. But Robinson 


47 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


wasn’t dead yet, and she put a scare into us when 
she sprang a new formation and began to circle our 
ends for six and eight yards at a try. Pete was 
put out of it and Gannet, who took his place, was 
pretty punk. We lost two or three other first-string 
men in that third period, and so when Robinson 
worked down to our fifteen-yard line we couldn’t 
stop her. We did smear her line attacks, but she 
heaved a forward and got away with it, and kicked 
the goal a minute later. That made the score n 
to io, and the world didn’t look so bright for us. 
And then, when the last quarter was about five min- 
utes old, Saunders, who was playing back with 
Peck, let a punt go over his head and they had us 
with our heels to the wall. Curtis punted on second 
down and the ball went crazy and slanted out at 
our forty-yard line. Robinson tried her kicks again 
and came back slowly. Pete Rankin put himself 
back in the game and that helped some. About that 
time when the enemy was near our twenty-five, 
Peck got a kick on the head and had to have time 
out. Old Rudy started Kingsley to warming up on 
the side line, but Peck, although sort of groggy, in- 
sisted on staying in, and Pete let him. 

They edged along to our twenty and then struck 
48 


THE GREAT PECK 

a snag and that’s when I stopped taking much inter- 
est in events, for I was the snag. When I came 
around I was lying on a nice bank of hay, with 
every bone in my head aching, and Prentiss was 
playing my position. So what happened subse- 
quently was seen by little Joe from afar. Robinson 
put another field goal over and added three points 
to her score and we saw the game going glimmer- 
ing. There was still five minutes left, however, 
and an optimist next to me on the hay pile said we 
could do it yet. I didn’t think we could, but I liked 
to hear him rave. 

The five minutes dwindled to four and then to 
three. We had the ball in the middle of the field 
and were trying every play in our bag of tricks. 
But our end runs didn’t get off, our forward passes 
were spoiled and we were plainly up against it. 
Young Peck’s voice got shriller and shriller and 
Pete’s hoarser and hoarser, and the rooters were 
making noises like a lot of frogs. And then the 
timekeeper said one minute and it looked as though 
there was nothing left but the shouting. 

We still had the pigskin and had crossed the 
center line two plays back, and Pete and Peck were 
rubbing heads while the Robbies jeered. Then 
49 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


something broke loose, and after Fd got a good look 
at it I saw that it was Peck. 

I don’t know how he got away, for it looked as 
if he had sort of pulled a miracle, but there he was, 
dodging and streaking with the mob at his heels 
and a quarter and a half laying for him up the field. 
The optimist guy almost broke his hand off pound- 
ing my sore shoulder and I let him pound, for the 
pain helped me yell. Pete and Trask trailed along 
behind Peck and it was Pete who dished the wait- 
ing halfback. After that Peck had a free field and 
it was only a question of his staying on his feet, 
for you could see that the kid was all in. He got 
to wobbling badly at about the fifteen yards and I 
thought sure a Robinson chap had him, but the 
Robbie wasn’t much better off and they finally went 
across, staggering, with Peck just out of reach, and 
toppled over the line together. Then bedlam broke 
loose. 

I must have forgotten my bum ankle, for the 
next thing I knew I was down at the goal line with 
half the college, and the Naval Reserve lieutenant 
had Peck’s head on his knees and was telling Tracy, 
the trainer, what to do for him. Tracy sputtered in- 
dignantly and swashed his sponge and Toots missed 
50 


THE GREAT PECK 

another goal and the game was over. The crowd 
got some of the team but I was near the gate and 
made my getaway. And so did Peck, thanks to the 
lieutenant chap, and we were halfway to the gym 
before the fellows missed him. We fought them 
off then right up to the gym door and dodged inside, 
and Peck, who was all right now except for being 
short of breath, said: “Thanks, West. 1 want you 
to know my brother.” 

“Your brother!” I gasped. The Navy chap 
laughed and shook hands. 

“And proud of it,” he said. “The kid played 
good ball for a fellow who couldn’t make the team 
last year, didn’t he?” 

“Couldn’t make — Say, what’s the idea?” I gib- 
bered. “Didn’t he play quarter for Elm Park?” 

“Why, no,” said the Navy guy, “that was me! 
Harold never played any to speak of until this fall. 
He tells me that a roommate of his taught him 
about all he knows. I want to meet that fellow!” 

“Oh!” said I, still sort of dazed. “Well, I guess 
he will be mighty glad to meet you, too. You see, 
he got it into his head that your brother was the 
great Peck, and ” 

“But I never told him anything like that!” ex- 
51 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


claimed Harold. “Why, I even pretended I’d never 
heard of you, Herb, for fear they might think I was 
— well, trading on your reputation, don’t you see! 
I don’t understand how Jim could have got that 
idea!” 

“Oh, he gets crazy notions sometimes,” said I. 
“At that, though, he wasn’t so far off, because if 
you’re not a Great Peck you’re a mighty good eight 
quarts !” 

Which wasn’t so poor for a fellow with half his 
teeth loose! Now was it? 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


"X/OU’RE up next, Slim,” said Captain Fos- 
dick, leaning forward to speak to Maple 
Park’s third baseman. “Get out there 
and let ’em think you’re alive.” Whittier hoisted 
himself from the bench and leisurely viewed the 
row of bats. Selecting two, he ambled out toward 
the plate. Guy Fosdick, or “Fos” as he was gen- 
erally called, turned again to Joe Tait, frowning. 
Joe, a heavily-built, broad-shouldered boy of six- 
teen, chuckled. 

“It’s no use, Fos,” he said. “You can’t put pep 
into Slim.” 

Fos’s frown melted into a smile. He was a good- 
looking chap at all times, but when he smiled he 
“had it all over Apollo and Adonis and all the rest 
of those Greek guys.” I am quoting Joe. Doubt- 
less Fos’s smile had a good deal to do with his 
immense popularity at Maple Park School, a popu- 
larity that had aided him to various honors during 
his four years there. 


53 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Sometimes I think he does it to rile me,” said 
Fos. “The day they had the explosion in the chem- 
ical laboratory Slim was out in front of Main Hall, 
and still going, before any of the rest of us were 
through the door! Good boy , Archie !” Browne 
had slammed a grounder between Linton’s short- 
stop and second baseman and filled the bags. “Two 
gone,” he said regretfully. “If Slim doesn’t do 

more than he’s been doing ” His voice trailed 

off into silence as he gave his attention to the Lin- 
ton High School pitcher. 

“Did you see Wendell get down to third?” asked 
Joe admiringly. “That kid can certainly run!” 

“Terry Wendell? Yes, he can,” agreed the caj> 
tain thoughtfully. “Put Terry on base and he will 
get to third every time. He’s a fast one, all right. 
But you’ve got to stop right there, Joe.” 

“How do you mean, stop?” 

“Terry never comes through. He gets just so 
far and stops. I don’t know why. He got to first 
on an error, stole second nicely, reached third on 
Archie’s hit and I’ll bet you a red apple he will die 
there.” 

“Oh, come, Fos, you’re too hard on the kid. He’s 
54 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

a pretty fair fielder and his hitting isn’t so rotten, 
and you say yourself that he’s fast on the bases.” 

“Until he gets to third,” responded Fos. “Maybe 
next year Terry will make good, Joe, but he doesn’t 
deliver the goods yet. I’m sorry, because he’s a 
friend of yours ” 

“We room together.” 

“But I’ve got to let him go. He’s had a fair 
trial all Spring, Joe, and the coach would have 
dropped him two weeks ago if I hadn’t put in my 
oar. He’s a nice kid, and he’s promising; but 
promises won’t win from Lacon two weeks from 
Saturday. If What did I tell you?” 

There was a chorus of triumph from the knot of 
Linton adherents behind third as their right fielder 
pulled down Slim Whittier’s long fly, and Captain 
Fosdick jumped up. 

“But that wasn’t Terry’s fault,” protested Joe. 
“A fellow can’t score on a third out!” 

“I didn’t say it was ever his fault,” replied Fos, 
pulling on his glove. “But it’s what always hap- 
pens, Joe. He doesn’t come through. Call it hard 
luck if you like, but that’s the way it is. All out 
on the run, fellows!” 

When the Linton center fielder had swung thrice 


55 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

at Morton’s delivery without connecting Joe arose 
from the substitute’s bench and strode off toward 
the track. He had no doubts as to the outcome of 
the game, for with but three innings to play it was 
unlikely that the visitors would overtake the home 
team’s lead of six runs, and he was due for a half- 
hour’s work with the shot. But he felt sorry about 
Terry. Terry was a nice kid and he was fond of 
him, and ever since he had known him, which meant 
since last September, Terry had tried and failed at 
half a dozen things. Terry had just failed of mak- 
ing the second football eleven, had almost but not 
quite finished fourth in the four-forty yards in the 
Fall Handicap Meet, had been beaten out by Walt 
Gordon for cover-point position on the second 
hockey team, had been passed over in the Debating 
Society election and now, just when, as Joe very 
well knew, Terry was beginning to congratulate 
himself on having made the school baseball team, 
Fate was about to deal him another blow. It was 
really mighty tough luck, Joe growled to himself; 
and if Fos had been anyone but Fos he would have 
suspected him of prejudice. But Terry Wendell’s 
troubles were forgotten when Joe had thrown off 
his wrap and had the twelve-pound shot cupped in 
56 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


his broad palm, and weren’t remembered again 
until, just before six, he pushed open the door of 12 
Munsing. 

Terry was pretending to study, but Joe knew very 
well from the discouraged look on his face that 
Fos had spoken and that Terry’s thoughts were far 
from the book before him. He looked up at Joe’s 
entry, murmured “Hello !” in a rather forlorn voice 
that tried hard to be cheerful and bent his head 
again. 

“How’d the game come out?” asked Joe, bang- 
ing the door with unnecessary violence. 

“We won; twelve to eight.” 

“Linton must have got a couple more runs over 
after I left,” said Joe. “How did you get along?” 

“Oh, pretty punk, thanks. I got one hit, rather 
a scratch, and was forced out at third. I got as 
far as third again and Whittier flied to the Linton 
right fielder and left me there.” 

“Hard luck! How about your fielding?” 

“Three chances and got them.” There was 
silence for a moment. Joe nursed a foot on the 
window-seat and waited. At last: “I’m out of it, 
Joe,” said Terry with a fine affectation of indiffer- 
57 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


ence. “Fosdick told me after the game that they’d 
decided to get along without my valuable services. ,, 

Joe pretended surprise. Terry cut short his ex- 
pressions of sympathy, however. "‘It doesn’t mat- 
ter,” he said. “I mean I ought to have known how 
it would be. I didn’t, though. I thought I’d really 
made good at something finally. I wrote home only 
last Sunday that I’d got on the nine. Well, I can 
sit back now, can’t I? There isn’t anything left to 
try for!” 

“Pshaw, that’s no way to talk, Terry. There’s 
your track work, remember. You’re pretty sure to 
get your chance with the quarter-milers.” 

“I’m going to quit that. I know what’ll happen. 
Either they’ll drop me the day before the Dual 
Meet or I’ll trail in in fifth place.” 

“Quit nothing!” said Joe disgustedly. “You’re 
going to stick, kid, if I have to lug you out by 
the feet and larrup you around the track!” Terry 
smiled faintly at the idea. 

“You won’t have to, Joe. I was only talking. 
I’ll keep on with the Track Team as long as they’ll 

have me. Maybe ” He hesitated a moment 

and then went on doubtfully. “Maybe I can get 
Cramer to try me in the half, Joe. I have an idea 
58 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


I could run the half better than the four-forty. 
Anyway, I’ll stick. And I’ll try my hardest. 
There — there must be something I can do !” 

Terry Wendell was fifteen, a nice-looking, well- 
built boy, rather slender but by no means frail, with 
frank brown eyes, somewhat unruly hair of the 
same color and a healthy complexion. He had en- 
tered Maple Park School the preceding Fall, mak- 
ing the upper middle class. He was good at studies 
and was seldom in difficulties with the instructors 
in spite of the time he consumed in the pursuit of 
athletic honors. Of course entering the third year 
class had handicapped him somewhat and his circle 
of friends and acquaintances was far smaller than 
if he had joined the school as a junior, but he 
hadn’t done so badly, after all, for Joe Tait had 
kindly taken him in hand and become a sort of 
social sponsor for him. What friends Terry had 
were firm ones and, had he but known it, liked him 
none the less for the plucky way in which, having 
been turned down in one sport, he bobbed up un- 
dismayed for another. But Terry, not knowing 
that, suspected the fellows of secretly smiling at his 
failures, and had become a little sensitive, a trifle 
inclined to detect ridicule where none was meant. 

59 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


Which fact probably accounts for the falling-out 
with Walt Gordon the next day. 

It was Sunday, and as perfect a day as the Spring 
had given. May was nearly over, the trees in the 
campus and on the long slope of Maple Hill were 
fully clothed in fresh green and the bluest of blue 
skies stretched overhead. Maple F’ which rises 
back of the school, is crowned b, a great granite 
ledge, from which one commands a view of many 
miles of smiling countryside. The Ledge is a 
favorite spot with the students and its seamed and 
crumbling surface is marked in many places with 
evidences of fires and, I regret to say, too often 
littered with such unlovely objects as empty pickle 
bottles, cracker boxes and the like. On this 
Sunday afternoon “Tolly” hailed the bottles with 
joy and, having collected five of them, advanced to 
the farther edge of the rock and hurled them glee- 
fully far down into the tops of the trees. Tolly's 
real name was Warren Tolliver, and he was only 
fourteen, and for the latter reason his performance 
with the pickle bottles was viewed leniently by the 
other four boys. Tolly’s youthfulness gave him 
privileges. 

Ordinarily the party would have been a quar- 
60 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 
tette; Joe, Terry, Hal Merrill and Tolly; but to-day 
they had happened on Walt Gordon and Walt had 
joined them. He was a heavily-built chap in ap- 
pearance, but when he was in track togs you saw 
that the heaviness was mostly solid muscle and 
sinew. He was Maple Park’s crack miler and, be- 
side, played a rather decent game at center field 
on the nine. He was respected for his athletic 
prowess, but beyond that was not very popular, 
for he thought a bit too highly of Walt Gordon and 
too little of anyone else. But none of his four com- 
panions really disliked him or had resented his at- 
taching himself to their party. When he cared to, 
Walt could be very good company. 

Stretched on the southern slope of the ledge, 
where sun and wind each had its way with them, 
the five boys found little to say at first. The climb 
had left them warm and a trifle out of breath. It 
was the irrepressible Tolly who started the con- 
versational ball rolling. “Know something, fel- 
lows?” he demanded. Joe lazily denied any knowl- 
edge on any subject and begged enlightenment. 
“Well,” continued Tolly, “when I get through col- 
lege ” 


61 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Ha !" grunted Hal. Tolly tossed a pebble at him 
and went on. 

“When I get through college Pm coming back 
here and I’m going to build one of those aerial 
railways from the roof of Main Hall to this place. 
It'll cost you fellows twenty-five cents apiece to get 
up here. No, maybe I’ll make it twenty-five for the 
round-trip." 

“I’ll walk before I pay a quarter," said Walt. 

“You won't be allowed to, because I’ll buy up the 
hill and put a barbed wire fence around it. You'll 
have to ride." 

“How are you going to run the thing, Tolly?" 
asked Joe. “Pull it up yourself?" 

“Electricity. There’ll be two cars. Wouldn’t it 
be fine?" 

“You’ll let your friends ride free, won’t you?" 
Terry inquired. 

“Yes, but I shan’t have any then. It’ll cost too 
much." 

“All that doesn’t cause me a flutter," said Hal. 
“By the time Tolly’s out of college I’ll be dead." 

“Don’t you believe it," Joe chuckled. “It won’t 
take him two weeks to get through college — if he 
62 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

once gets in. It’ll be a case of ‘Howdy do, Mr. 
Tolliver. Goodby, Mr. Tolliver!’ ” 

“Huh!” grunted Tolly. “That’s all you know 
about it, Joey. I can get in any college I like, 
and ” 

“Yes, but suppose they found you?” said Hal. 
“I’m getting letters every day from all the big 

ones: Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Cornell ” 

“Vassar,” suggested Joe helpfully. 

“That’s what comes of being a real ball-player,” 
concluded Tolly. “Everyone wants you.” 

A groan of derision arose. “A real ball-player !” 
said Hal. “You poor fish, you never caught a ball 
but once in your life, and then you couldn’t get 
out of its way !” Hal rolled over a little so that he 
could see Terry. “You never heard about that, did 
you, Terry?” he asked. “It was last Spring. Tolly 
was trying for the nine and the coach sort of let 
him hang around and look after the bats and keep 
the water bucket filled, you know. The only trouble 
was that he was so small that fellows were always 
falling over him, and finally Murdock, who was 
captain then, decided to get rid of him. But Tolly 
hid behind the bucket and Murdock couldn’t find 
him, and one day we played Spencer Hall and a 


63 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


fellow named Williams, the regular left fielder, was 
sick, and another fellow got spiked or something 
and there was only Tolly left. So Murdock called 
him and Tolly crawled out from under a 
glove ” 

“Aw, dry up,” grumbled Tolly. 

“And they put him out in center, just to fill up, 
you know. Of course Murdock told him that if a 
fly came toward him to run like the dickens and 
not try to worry it. And sure enough one of the 
Spencer Hall fellows lit on a good one and sent 
it into left. Tolly was dreaming away out 
there, or picking daisies or something: I forget: 
and all of a sudden he heard a yell and here was 
that awful ball sailing right down at him ! It was 
a horrible moment in Tolly’s young life. He tried 
hard to run away, but the pesky ball just followed 
him. If he ran back the ball went after him. If 
he ran to the right the ball went that way too. It 
was awful! Poor old Tolly nearly fainted. Center 
fielder was coming hard for it, but it was a long 
hit ” 

“The longest ever made on the field!” interpo- 
lated Tolly proudly. 

“And he couldn’t reach it. Tolly saw that there 
64 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


was no use trying to escape, so finally he stood still, 
resolved to sell his life dearly, and put up his hands 
to ward off the ball. Well, sir, Terry, that ball went 
right against Tolly’s hands and Tolly gave a cry 
of fear and fell down unconscious !” 

“Is that so?” demanded Tolly indignantly. 
“Well, the ball stuck, didn’t it? And I wasn’t so 
unconscious that I couldn’t jump up and peg to 
shortstop, was I ? Huh!” 

“So after that,” concluded Hal, “as a sort of re- 
ward for accidentally saving the game, they let him 
sit on the bench and called him a substitute fielder.” 

Terry joined in the laughter, and then, catching 
Tolly’s eyes on him, stopped suddenly. There was 
something of apology in Tolly’s look and Terry 
understood. It was Tolly who had profited by his 
failure. Tolly would play right field after this. He 
was made certain of it the next moment, for Walt 
Gordon remarked: 

“Well, you’re all right now, Tolly. They can’t 
keep a good man down, eh?” 

“How’s that?” asked Hal, who was not a ball 
player, but performed on the track, being one of the 
school’s best sprinters and no mean hand at the 
hurdles. 


65 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


Walt shot a questioning glance at Terry. “Don’t 
you know, Hal? Why, Terry has decided to quit 
us,” answered Walt. “What’s next, Terry? The 
Tennis Team?” 

Terry flared instantly, quite as much to his own 
surprise as to theirs, for he was not usually quick- 
tempered. “You mind your own business, Walt,” 
he snapped. “I’ll attend to mine.” 

Walt flushed. “Is that so?” he sneered. “Well, 
I’m just curious, that’s all. There’s only the Tennis 
Club left, you know. Unless you go in for chess.” 

“Cut it out, Walt,” said Joe. “Let him alone.” 

“Then tell him to let me alone. I didn’t say 
anything to make him jump down my throat. 
Everyone here knows he’s had a whack at every- 
thing there is and fallen down. If he doesn’t like 
to hear that he knows what he can do. I’m ready 
to ” 

Terry leaped to his feet. “Then come on!” he 
cried, his eyes blazing. “If you can do anything 
besides talk, prove it, you — you big ” 

“Shut up, Terry!” commanded Joe sternly. 
“And sit down. There isn’t going to be any scrap- 
ping. You mustn’t fly off the handle like that. And 
you, Walt, shouldn’t say such things. There’s no 
66 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

disgrace in trying and failing as long as you don’t 
grouch about it. Terry’s plucky to keep on trying, 
I think.” 

“Of course he is,” agreed Tolly warmly. “You 
shut up, Walt.” 

Walt shrugged disdainfully. “Oh, very well. 
Four against one ” 

“There’s one thing I haven’t fallen down at yet/* 
interrupted Terry, still angry, “and that’s running, 
and ” 

“Also-running, you mean,” laughed Walt 
“You’re the finest little also-ran in the history of the 
school, Wendell!” 

“Am I? Let me tell you something, Gordon. 
I’ll be running when you’ve quit. If I’m an ‘also- 
ran,’ you’re a quitter. You quit last Fall because 
Hyde had twenty yards on you in the next to the 
last lap. You thought no one ” 

“That’s a lie ! I turned my ankle on the 
board ” 

“Did you? Well, you walked well enough five 
minutes later. Look here, I’ll bet you right now, 
anything you like, that I’ll win more points than you 
when we meet Lacon!” 

“Don’t be a chump, Terry,” begged Hal. 

67 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Oh, piffle !” sneered Walt. “You won’t even 
be on the track !” 

“That’s my lookout. Will you bet?” 

“No, he won’t,” said Joe. “And that’ll be about 
all from both of you. Now dry up. If I hear any 
more from either of you I’ll chuck you over the 
ledge. Is this what you chaps call a peaceful Sun- 
day afternoon?” 

“All right, I will dry up,” replied Terry. “But 
he heard me. And I mean what I said. And when 
the Dual Meet is over he will know it !” 

The next afternoon Terry went across to the field 
the moment he had finished his last recitation. Mr. 
Cramer — Sam to the older boys, but “Coach” to 
the others — was busy with a bunch of hurdlers, 
amongst whom was Hal, when Terry arrived, and 
he had to wait several minutes before he was able 
to claim the trainer’s attention. Down at the far- 
ther end of the oval Joe and a half-dozen others 
were moving about the pits, while various white- 
clad forms jogged or sprinted around the track. 
The Dual Meet with Lacon Academy, Maple Park’s 
dearest foe, was only a little more than a fortnight 
distant and a late Spring had held back the team’s 
development discouragingly. This Monday after- 
68 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

noon Coach Cramer was in a hustling mood, and 
there was a hint of impatience in his voice when 
he called the hurdlers back for the third start 

“Stop trying to beat the pistol !" he barked. “The 
next fellow who does it will stay out. Now then, 
on your mark ! Set! 

Bang went the pistol and six slim, lithe figures 
hurled themselves forward and went darting down 
the lanes. Hal began to gain at the fourth hurdle — 
they were doing the 220-yards sticks — and at the 
finish was running strong. Terry noticed that he 
held back between the last barrier and the string 
and let Porter breeze past him into first place. 
While the next squad were taking their places Terry 
addressed the trainer. 

“Mr. Cramer, don't you think I might try the 
half, sir?" he asked. “I've sort of got a hunch I 
can do better at a longer distance than the four- 
forty." 

“Hello, Wendell. What’s that? The half? We 
don’t need you in the half, my boy. You stick to 
the quarter. I guess that’s your distance, if you 
have any. How are you feeling to-day?" 

“Fine, sir." 

“All right. Jog a couple of laps and then try 
69 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

some starts. I’m going to give you quarter-milers 
a trial at four.” 

“Yes, sir: and about that half, Mr. Cramer. 
There wouldn’t be any harm in my just trying it, 
would there? I mean later on, after the trial.” 

“I don’t know.” The coach and trainer turned 
and looked Terry over speculatively. “No, I guess 
not, if it’s going to please you. But take it easy. 
Three minutes is fast enough. I’ll tell you now, 
though, that it don’t do you any good, for we’ve 
got so many half-milers that we can’t use them all.” 

Terry managed to scrape past in fourth place in 
the four-forty trial, beating out Connover and Dale, 
and felt rather proud until Mr. Cramer dryly an- 
nounced the winner’s time to have been 54 3/5 
seconds, which was more than a second slower than 
it should have been. He wrapped himself in his 
gaudy green-and-red dressing gown and went over 
to watch the jumpers for awhile, and finally, when 
the field was nearly empty and Pete, the grounds- 
keeper, was removing the standards, he walked 
over to the start of the distances, wriggled out of 
his gown, limbered his legs a minute and then went 
off, hugging the inside rim. He had to guess at 
his speed. He knew from watching others that the 
70 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


eight-eighty was a different race from the quarter 
and all the way round the first lap he held himself 
back so that he might have some reserve for the 
finish. But when he had put the turn behind him 
and entered the backstretch on the second lap his 
lungs were protesting and his legs had lost their 
spring. It was a pretty wobbly runner who at last 
crossed the finish, and who was glad to sit down 
for a moment, his gown flung around his shoulders. 
He was thankful that none of the few fellows re- 
maining had apparently noticed his journey along 
the homestretch. He went back to the gymnasium 
rather discouraged, but a shower-bath perked him 
up considerably, and after he had talked with Joe 
he felt still better. For Joe pointed out that after 
having run in a quarter-mile trial he had scarcely 
been in ideal condition to do himself justice in the 
eight-eighty. Joe wasn’t especially sympathetic to- 
ward Terry’s ambition to add the half-mile to his 
repertoire, but he was too good-natured to throw 
cold water on it. 

The next afternoon Terry divided his time — and, 
since he was no longer essential to the nine, he had 
plenty of it — between the routine prescribed by the 
coach and his self-training for the half. Perhaps had 


71 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Terry been viewed by Mr. Cramer a trifle more seri- 
ously he would not have been allowed to risk over- 
training, but the coach wasn’t especially impressed 
with the boy’s efforts. Perhaps next year Terry 
might find himself, and it was in that hope that 
the coach gave him such encouragement as he did. 
Of course Terry didn’t go the full half-mile on 
Tuesday, nor yet on Wednesday. He knew better 
than to do that. What he did do was follow in a 
general way the instructions given to the half- 
milers. He tried short sprints of thirty and forty 
yards at top-speed, jogged a mile each day and at 
last, on Thursday, cut in with the half-milers and 
ran the three-quarters with them — or, rather, behind 
them — at a fairly good clip. He was trying hard 
to learn this new distance, and it wasn’t easy. He 
knew fairly well how hard he could go for the four- 
forty without running himself out, but twice around 
the track, with eight corners to reckon instead of 
two, was a vastly different proposition. 

And yet, when Saturday came and he gave up 
seeing the Prentiss game for the sake of running, 
he felt sure enough of himself to ask permission 
to enter the trial with the regular half-milers. Mr. 
Cramer gave rather impatient permission and Terry 
72 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

took his place in the second row and tried to remain 
unconscious of the looks of surprise or amusement 
with which his companions viewed him. Terry 
Wendell was in a fair way to become rather a joke, 
it seemed. But Terry didn’t do so badly in the 
trial, after all, for out of the field of twelve he 
finished seventh. It was a poor seventh, to be sure, 
and he never learned his time, but he thought that 
Mr. Cramer observed him a bit more tolerantly 
afterwards, even if he had nothing to say to him. 
That race taught Terry one thing, which was that 
the half-mile was not so long as he had reckoned 
it. He had run too slow in the first lap. Another 
time, he told himself, he would know better than to 
let the others get away from him like that. He had 
finished the race with a lot of reserve which, had 
he called on it before, might have put him in fourth 
place at least. 

Relations between him and Walt Gordon were 
strained. Walt, secure in the knowledge of his 
supremacy in the mile run, was not worried by 
Terry’s new activity. Walt was pretty sure of 
handing over five points to his school in the Dual, 
for Lacon was known to be weak in the mile, and 
was equally sure that if Terry managed to secure 
73 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


the one point that went with fourth place he would 
be doing more than anyone expected of him. But 
Terry’s accusation to the effect that Walt had quit 
in the Fall Meet held just enough truth to be un- 
pleasant to the latter youth, and his feelings in con- 
sequence were not very cordial toward Terry. As 
to the incident mentioned, why, it didn’t amount to 
much in Walt’s judgment, but, just the same, he 
preferred that fellows shouldn’t suspect it. He had 
turned his ankle in the third lap, just as he had said, 
but there was no denying that had Hyde not had a 
fifteen or twenty yard lead on him he would have 
finished the race without untold agony. As it was, 
it wasn’t worth while. Everyone knew that he 
was better than Hyde. And Walt hated to be 
beaten! He and Terry didn’t speak to each other 
just now: didn’t even see each other if they could 
help it: but Terry heard from Tolly that Walt was 
making amusing remarks about the new half-miler: 
and it needed only that to make Terry buckle down 
to track work harder than ever. 

Tolly had covered himself with glory in the Pren- 
tiss game, getting two hits off the visiting pitcher, 
which was one more than anyone else had secured 
and two more than most. And he had fielded well, 
74 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

besides. The fact that Prentiss had won the con- 
test in a last fatal inning didn’t detract from 
Tolly’s glory. Terry, though still hurt over being 
dropped, was glad that Tolly had succeeded to his 
position, and said so, and Tolly showed vast relief. 
“I was afraid you’d be sore at me,” he explained. 
“I didn't want you to think that I was trying to 
get you out, Terry. Anyway, you’d have done just 
as well as I did if you’d been in my place.” Terry 
wanted to think that, too, but he couldn’t quite 
do it. 

On Monday Mr. Cramer surprised him by say- 
ing: “I guess you'd better cut out your sprints to- 
day, Wendell. You didn’t do so badly in the half 
Saturday and I’ye half a mind to let you see what 
you can do. How did you come through ?” 

“Fresh as a daisy, sir.” 

“Well, go easy this afternoon. Jog a mile and 
do a short sprint at the finish. If I were you I’d 
try for a shorter stride, my boy. It looks to me 
as if you were straining a bit. There’s nothing in 
a long stride if it doesn’t come natural.” 

The next day, when work was over, the coach 
spoke again. “I’ll put you down for the half, Wen- 
dell,” he said. “There’s no doubt about your being 
75 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

a better middle-distance runner than a sprinter. 
And I’m not sure that you’ve found your right line 
yet. Next Fall, if I were you, I’d have a try at the 
mile. Maybe you can run them both. There’ll be 
another trial about Friday, and if you show up well 
I’ll enter you for the Dual.” 

Terry went back to Munsing Hall with his heart 
beating high. He found Hal Merrill and Phil Hyde 
there with Joe. Hyde was an upper middler, a 
slim, dark-complexioned fellow with quiet manners. 
He and Hal roomed together over in Warren. 
“Here’s another one,” said Hal as Terry entered. 
“Want to go on a hike Sunday, Terry?” 

“I guess so. Where?” 

“Bald Mountain. We’re going to take grub 
along and make a fire. Phil’s getting too fat and 
wants to reduce.” 

“That’s a bully way of doing it,” Terry laughed, 
viewing Hyde’s lean form. “Bald Mountain’s a 
good five miles.” 

“And the last mile all uphill,” added Joe grimly. 
“I’m game, though. Who else is going?” 

“Guy Fosdick, I guess, and Tolly. We don’t want 
too many. Take that alcohol stove of yours, Joe, will 
you? We’ll make some coffee on it, I don’t mind 
76 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

frying steak on an open fire, but Goffee’s something 
else again.” 

Presently Phil Hyde said to Terry: ‘‘I hear 
you’ve blossomed out as a half-miler, Wendell.” 
Terry said “Yes” suspiciously and waited for the 
inevitable joke. But Phil only remarked that he 
hoped Terry would beat out some of those “one- 
lungers.” 

“ ‘One-lungers’ is good,” approved Hal laugh- 
ingly. “Some of those fellows, like Lambert and 
Tilling, have about as much license to be running 
in the half-mile as I’d have to — to throw the 
hammer !” 

“Our chance of winning the Dual is about as big 
as a piece of cheese,” growled Joe. “I was figuring 
this morning and all I can see with a telescope is 
forty-four points. We can count on first and sec- 
ond in the hundred-yards and in the mile, but I 
don’t see another first in sight; unless it’s in the 
high hurdles.” 

“Better not count on that either,” said Hal. 
“Munroe can beat me out two times out of three. 
But what about your own stunt? Mean to say you 
aren’t going to get a first in the shot-put.” 

“I’m not counting on it,” replied Joe. “Cobb, of 
77 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Lacon, has been doing thirty-seven feet right along 
in practice, I hear.” 

Hal whistled expressively, but Phil advised them 
not to believe all they heard. “And don't be too 
sure of second place in the mile, either, Joe. Walt's 
been doing a lot of talking about how poor our 
hated rival is, but I've a hunch that some of their 
milers will give us a good tussle. Of course, Walt's 
sure of his five points, but I may be lucky to get 
one instead of three. You can't tell. Besides, 
they'll enter four or five men to our three, and that 
gives them the edge of the start. Still, I guess 
we've got a show for the meet, Joe. If you can see 
forty-four points to-day we can hustle around a 
week from Thursday and round up a few more. 
Never say die, old dear!” 

From Tuesday until Friday Terry lived in a con- 
dition of alternate hope and despair. There were 
times when he felt that he was bound to fail in the 
trial and times when he believed that he could make 
good. He was still working at the quarter, but 
there was no disguising the fact that at least three 
of his team-mates had made better progress in their 
training than he had, and he felt very certain that 
his only chance of representing Maple Park the fol- 
78 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

lowing Thursday lay in qualifying with the half- 
milers. 

Mr. Cramer sent them away at a little after four 
that afternoon, a round dozen in all, of whom no 
more than six could expect to be chosen for com- 
petition against Lacon. After it was over, just two 
minutes and eleven seconds later, Terry was sur- 
prised to think how easy it had been. He had not 
made the mistake this time of holding back at the 
start, but had pushed to third place at once and 
held it to the last corner of the first lap. Then 
Howland set him back and he passed the line run- 
ning fourth. Stevens, setting the pace, yielded as 
they turned into the backstretch and Terry was 
again in third place. A red-haired senior named 
Wallace gave him a hard race along the straight, 
but Terry beat him to the turn by a stride and 
hugged the rim as he came around into the home- 
stretch. By that time the field was strung out half- 
way around and two of the competitors had fallen 
out. Howland had taken the lead and was having 
it nip-and-tuck with Green. Terry followed a good 
half-dozen yards behind. Stevens put a scare into 
him just short of the finish, but Terry had some- 
thing left and beat him across by a few strides. The 
79 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


next morning Maple Park’s entries for the Dual 
Meet were mailed to her rival and the name of 
Terry Wendell was amongst them. 

There was no work for the track and field men 
on Saturday, and so Terry and Joe sat together and 
saw the Lacon Academy Baseball Team go down to 
defeat by the score of 6 to 5 in a ten-inning contest 
filled with thrills. Starting out as a pitchers’ bat- 
tle, it developed toward the end into a fielding com- 
petition. Both sides took to hitting, but hardly a 
hit got beyond the infield unless it was a high and 
safe fly, and victory depended on perfect defense. 
It was, properly enough, Captain Fosdick who broke 
the tie in the tenth. With one gone and a man on 
first, Fos laid down a bunt that should have been 
converted into an easy out. But Lacon’s taut 
nerves jangled badly and the third baseman, trying 
for speed, pegged wide of first. The runner on 
first kept on to third and then, with the ball speed- 
ing across to that bag, took a long and desperate 
chance. He put his head down and scuttled for the 
plate. Had the third baseman not been rattled by 
his previous misplay, the runner’s chance would 
have been poor indeed, but the Lacon player, sur- 
prised, doubtful, hesitated an instant too long and 
80 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


then had to throw hurriedly. If the ball had 
reached the catcher below his waist he might have 
sent the game into the eleventh inning, but he had 
to reach for it, and before he could sweep it down 
on the runner that youth had hooked a foot across 
the rubber and the baseball championship of the 
year was Maple Park’s. 

That victory cheered the school hugely and was 
accepted as a good augury for the Meet. And it 
was reflected in the spirits of the five boys who 
met in 12 Munsing at two the next day and, a few 
minutes later clattered downstairs and started off 
on their picnic. Fos had failed them at the last 
moment, and so the party was composed of Joe, 
Terry, Hal, Tolly and Phil Hyde. Each one car- 
ried his portion of the provender and cooking appa- 
ratus, Hal looking picturesque with a skillet flap- 
ping over his hip. Tolly produced a chorus of con- 
temptuous protest when he wheeled his bicycle from 
concealment alongside the entrance of Munsing and 
nonchalantly mounted it. 

“This is a hike, you lazy beggar !” said Joe. “Get 
off that thing!” 

But Tolly explained. He was a good explainer. 
“That’s all right for you fellows, but I’m not up 
81 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


to ten miles to-day. Think of what I went through 
yesterday, Joe ! Winning a game like that one takes 
it out of you!” 

“You didn't even get a hit!” jeered Hal. 

“Hits aren't everything,” answered Tolly loftily. 
“Someone has to do the brain work. Besides, five 
miles is a bit of a jaunt when the last two are uphill, 
and we can take turns on the wheel. And we can 
strap a lot of things on it, too, and not have to 
lug 'em.” 

That sounded more reasonable and Tolly won. 
Later they were thankful that he had, for Fate 
brought about circumstances that made that bicycle 
a fortunate possession. They didn't try for a record 
and consumed nearly three hours in reaching the 
top of Bald Mountain. The roads were good until 
they reached the little village of Pearson, at the 
foot of the mountain, but from there they had rough 
going. The wagon road which wound to* the sum- 
mit by devious ways was rutted and rock-strewn 
and the last half of it was pretty steep. But they 
took it easy and were on top before five and at half- 
past had their fire going in the stone fire-place that 
some thoughtful persons had built several years 
before. They still had three hours of daylight 
82 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


before them, a cooling breeze swept past them from 
the southwest and they were comfortably weary and 
as hungry as five bear cubs. Hal cooked and Terry 
officiated at the coffee pot. After all they had to 
make coffee over the fire, for, although Joe had 
faithfully brought along his alcohol heater, he had 
made the lamentable mistake of forgetting the alco- 
hol! But the coffee tasted all right, even if it was 
muddy. And the steak — well, when Tolly got his 
first taste of that steak he just turned his eyes 
Heavenward and said “Oh boy!” in awed rapture. 
There were baked potatoes, too, a bit solid in the 
middle and somewhat charred outside but fine else- 
where, and toast — if you could wait for it — and 
bananas and cakes of chocolate. Nothing marred 
the beatific success of the jaunt up to the time that 
the fog arrived. It was Joe who drew the attention 
of the others to the fact that the wide-flung land- 
scape below them was no longer visible. As a fog 
on Bald Mountain is a damp and chilly affair, and 
as it is no particular aid to finding one’s way down 
a road that twists like a grapevine, they decided to 
make an early start. 

They still had the sinking sun in their eyes when 
they began the descent, but when they had dropped 
83 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


a few hundred feet the gray mist was about them 
and, as the sun took that moment to disappear 
behind the mountain, they found that they had to 
proceed slowly and cautiously. It would be no 
difficult task to walk off the winding road and so 
get down faster and more painfully than desired. 
Tolly, who had eaten well but not wisely, had his 
wheel as well as himself to navigate and was fre- 
quently heard regretting the fact that he had yielded 
to the blandishments of the others and fetched it 
along! More than once the party came to a pause 
while Joe, leading, gingerly sought the direction of 
the erratic wagon road. The fog began to depress 
them and affected even Tolly’s good-nature. Twi- 
light deepened the gloom and called for an increase 
of caution, and Joe had just finished an admonition 
to keep well toward the mountain side of the road 
when the accident happened. 

There was a sharp exclamation of dismay and 
then a crashing of the bushes and low, stunted trees 
and silence. “What’s that?” called Joe startledly. 
“Anyone hurt?” 

“Someone went over!” cried Hal. “Terry, I 
think!” 

“I’m here! Tolly?” 


84 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

“Here! I think it was Phil. O Phil!" There 
was no answer. They called again, creeping cau- 
tiously to the unguarded edge of the road. “I heard 
someone stumble," gasped Hal, “and then some- 
thing that sounded like ‘Gee!’ and then " 

“We've got to go down there," said Joe. “I wish 
we had a flashlight. Who's got matches?" 

They found him presently, thirty feet below, 
lodged against a small boulder that projected from 
the steep face of the cliff. They could get no reply 
to their anxious appeals, and when, by the light of 
many matches that burned dimly in the heavy mist, 
they found the back of his head wet with blood the 
explanation confronted them. Tolly went quite to 
pieces and babbled incoherently, but the others, to 
their credit, kept their heads in spite of their horror 
and fear. It was a hard task to get him back to 
the road, but they did it at last, and then an attempt 
was made to use the bicycle as an ambulance. But 
two trials showed the impossibility of that, for the 
road was never meant for bicycle traffic. To search 
for poles to make a litter of was out of the ques- 
tion, for the trees were small, wind-twisted things 
and the gloom was too deep for searching further. 
In the end it was Terry's plan that was adopted. 

85 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

The others were to carry Phil between them as best 
they might and he would take the bicycle and get 
to Pearson as fast as he could and bring the doctor 
back. 

Terry is not likely to forget that ride down the 
side of Bald Mountain even if he lives far beyond 
the allotted age of man. Once started there was no 
actual stopping, since he discovered to his dismay 
that Tolly's wheel had no coaster brake. All he 
could do was hold back to the best of his ability, try 
to keep away from the outer edge of the road and 
trust to luck. Fortunately the fog thinned almost 
at once and the road was dimly visible ahead. But 
rocks and ruts were not visible, at least not in time 
for avoidance, and more than a dozen times Terry's 
heart jumped into his throat as he felt the wheel 
bound aside perilously near the edge. After a min- 
ute or two the descent became more gradual and 
the roadbed better and he threw discretion to the 
winds and went tearing, bounding down, clinging 
to handlebars and saddle on a mad coast. In spite 
of his danger, or perhaps because of it, there was 
an exhilaration that made him forget for a moment 
or two the purpose of his errand. But then a 
vision of Phil's white face under the dim light of 
86 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


flickering matches returned to him and he shud- 
dered and would have gone faster yet had that been 
possible. Then the mountain road straightened out, 
the fog was gone, the wind ceased roaring past his 
ears and making his eyes water and lights shone 
faintly through the late twilight ahead. Short of 
the village he found his pedals again and, save that 
his cap had left him far back, presented a fairly 
reputable appearance as he brought up before the 
gate of the little white house on which he had noted 
in the afternoon a doctor’s sign. Fortunately the 
physician, a middle-aged and rather stodgy man, 
was at home, and fortunately too his small automo- 
bile was standing in the lane beside the house, its 
little engine chugging merrily, and in less than four 
minutes Terry had leaned Tolly’s bicycle against 
the white picket fence and was rattling and jounc* 
ing away into the early darkness with Doctor 
Strang. Presently the little car was panting against 
the increasing grade but still going well, dodging 
stones and obstacles, and before it was forced to 
acknowledge defeat Joe, Hal and Tolly came into 
sight through the darkness with Phil on their 
shoulders. 

Then, with Phil on the back seat of the car and 
87 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

the boys hanging on wherever they could, the auto^ 
mobile was somehow turned and sent racing down 
the road again. Terry helped carry the still uncon- 
scious boy into the doctor’s office and then stood by 
while an examination was made. There was one 
long sigh of relief from all when the verdict was 
given. Phil had had a pretty hard blow on the base 
of the brain, producing unconsciousness, explained 
Doctor Strang, but there appeared to be no fracture 
of the skull, and it was likely that a few days in 
bed would bring him around where he could try 
more fool stunts like walking off the side of a 
mountain! After that the doctor got efficiently 
busy and ten minutes later Phil, conscious again, 
but pretty well bruised and not inclined to talk, was 
back in the car and they set off for Maple Park. It 
was nearly nine when they reached school and long 
after midnight before sleep came to either Terry 
or Joe. 

Phil was a sick looking boy when Terry came in 
to see him for a minute the next afternoon in the 
infirmary, but he spoke hopefully of being all right 
by Thursday and Terry went off to the field pres- 
ently with no premonition of what awaited him 
there. Lacon’s list of entries had arrived and Mr. 


88 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


Cramer and Steve Cooper, the latter captain of the 
Track Team and Maple Park’s all-around athlete, 
had looked it over and gone into executive session. 
Lacon had six nominees for the mile run against 
Maple Park’s three. Of course she might not start 
them all when the time came, but if she did Maple 
Park was due for a hard time. Six against three, 
with all the possibilities of pace-making, pocketing 
and general team-work, was too great an odds, and 
coach and captain did some tall thinking. If Hyde 
was able to run they might chance it, but if he 
wasn’t they would have only Gordon and Pillon; 
two entries against six! 

“I don’t like it,” said Mr. Cramer. “It doesn’t 
look good, Cap. Whether Hyde enters or doesn’t 
it’s safe to say that he won’t be much use to us. 
I’m for filling up with two or three men to make 
it look like a race, anyway. We can count on Gor- 
don copping first or second place, but we need more 
points than that. That Lacon bunch can kill off 
Pillon easily. Look here, let’s start a couple of 
half-milers. They can’t do any harm and they may 
worry Lacon a bit. If Howland makes the pace 
half-way through it may upset Lacon’s calculations 
and let us edge in for third place. Howland and 
89 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Green and — I wonder about young Wendell, Cap. 
The boy's got a lot of grit and he will try anything 
you can show him. And I'm not so sure he isn't 
meant for a miler, anyway. At least he might give 
those red-and-gray fellows a tussle. Sound fair?" ! 

Cooper thought it did, and that's why, when the j 
day's workouts were over three surprised half- 
milers were trying to get used to the knowledge 
that just three days later they were to “kill them- 
selves" in two laps of a mile run. Neither Howland 
nor Green showed much enthusiasm at the prospect. 
There would be perhaps thirty minutes between the 
races, but Howland didn't think that he would have 
much appetite for the mile after running the half, 
no matter how much rest he got between whiles. 
And Green spoke to much the same effect. Of the 
three only Terry was pleased. Terry was more 
than pleased. He was supremely delighted. He 
didn't imagine for a moment that he would secure 
first place, or second, or third, but he had a sort 
of sneaking idea that fourth place might not be 
beyond the possibilities, and when he recalled that 
rash boast to Walt Gordon he realized that one 
point might save him from utter disgrace. He had 
often wondered why on earth he had ever issued 
90 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


such a crazy challenge as that! He had as much 
chance of winning more points than Walt as — as he 
had of flying! 

There was easy work on Tuesday and none at 
all on Wednesday, save that certain of the team 
were sent on a walk into the country in the after- 
noon. Terry was among them. So was Walt Gor- 
don, still haughty and contemptuous. Hyde was 
not. It was known now that Phil had been dropped. 
He was still in bed and still plastered and bandaged. 
Maple Park wasn’t thinking any too well of her 
chances of winning the Meet just then. Terry was 
no longer down for the four- forty. In something 
under three weeks he had developed from a quarter- 
miler into a distance runner, which was, to use 
Tolly’s phrase, “going some!” As the day of the 
Meet drew near Terry began to experience a mild 
form of stage-fright, and there were moments when 
he almost, if not quite, wished that he had been less 
ambitious and had only the four-forty to win or 
fail in. 

Thursday dawned with a drizzling rain. Before 
noon the sun came out hotly, but the track was 
sodden and slow and the jumping-pits little better 
than mud-holes. Lacon arrived, colorful and noisy, 
91 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

at twelve and by two o’clock the athletic field was a 
busy scene. The small grand-stand was crowded and 
spectators to the number of nearly a thousand lined 
the rope outside the track. A tent which flew the 
cardinal-and-gray of Lacon Academy had been set 
up as a dressing place for the visitors and about it 
lolled or strolled a fine-looking band of invaders. 
The trials in the ioo-yards dash opened the event, 
while pole-vaulters and jumpers began their leis- 
urely competitions. 

Maple Park showed up badly in the first events. 
Hal Merrill won her only first in the sprints and 
got a second place in the high hurdles. In the low 
hurdles he failed to qualify, getting a poor start 
and not being able to make it up. The quarter-mile 
went to Lacon and she took eight of the eleven 
points. In the field events, however, the home team 
was showing up unexpectedly well and, when the 
half-mile was called, the adversaries were running 
close as to scores. That half-mile proved to be a 
pretty run. In spite of rumor, Lacon was not so 
strong as feared, and Howland finished a good eight 
yards ahead of the next runner, a Lacon youth. 
Terry got third place, to everyone’s surprise, beating 
out a red-and-gray boy in the final twenty yards. 

92 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 

Terry got more applause from his schoolmates than 
Howland, I think, and walked back to the gym- 
nasium breathless but delighted. At last, he told 
himself, he had really succeeded in something, and 
even if winning third place and thereby adding two 
points to Maple Park’s score wasn’t anything to 
gloat over it was highly satisfactory to him! 

With all events save the mile run, the hammer 
throw and the pole vault decided it was still any- 
one’s victory. Maple Park had 5 1 points and Lacon 
48. Then, while the milers were limbering up in 
front of the grand-stand, word came of the hammer- 
throw and Lacon had taken six of the eleven points 
and was now but two points behind. She had al- 
ready secured a first in the pole-vault and it was a 
question what of the remaining places she would 
capture. It very suddenly dawned on the spectators 
that the Meet hinged on the last event and that the 
victory would likely go to the team winning the 
majority of points in the mile run! 

Perhaps it was as well for Terry’s peace of mind 
that he didn’t know that, for he was feeling rather 
out of his element and extremely doubtful as to the 
part he was to play. His instructions had been to 
get up with Howland and Green and force the 
93 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

running as long as he could, taking the lead from 
Howland, in case that runner secured it, and making 
the pace a hot one to at least the end of the second 
lap. But they had placed him in the second row 
of starters and well toward the outer edge of the 
track and he foresaw difficulties in making his way 
to the front. Gordon was almost directly ahead and 
Pillon was second man from the pole in the first 
rank, with Howland rubbing elbows with him. Then 
the word came to get set and an instant later they 
were off, crowding in toward the board, jostling and 
scurrying. But that didn’t last long. In a moment 
or two all had found their places, a long-legged 
Lacon runner named Shores setting the pace. At 
the turn Pillon went past Shores and Howland 
passed Pillon. Terry was in fifth place, with Green 
just ahead. Walt Gordon was seventh man and 
Mullins, the Lacon hope, was ninth. Once around 
the turn Howland caused a ripple of surprise by 
drawing ahead at a killing pace. Shores accepted 
the challenge and the leaders generally moved faster, 
but neither Gordon nor Mullins altered their speed 
a mite. Terry moved into fourth place and the 
field began to string out. Howland kept the lead 
to the end of the lap and then weakened, and Terry, 
94 



THEN THE PISTOL DROPPED AND THEY WERE OFF 








TERRY COMES THROUGH 


remembering instructions, strove to get to the front. 
But Green was at his toes and a Lacon runner had 
him effectually pocketed as they went into the turn. 
Consequently it was Green who became pace-maker, 
and a hard pace he set. One by one the tail-enders 
fell farther and farther away and the contestants 
formed into two groups. At the half distance the 
order was Green, Shores, Pillon, Terry, an unknown 
Lacon runner, Gordon and Mullins. Well back 
trailed Howland and three Lacon men. 

Green was soon finished as a pace-maker and in 
the back-stretch Shores was again in front. As 
Green dropped back to Terry he gasped: “Get up 
there, Wendell !” And Terry tried, but the Lacon 
unknown moved even and held him at every attempt, 
and then came the turn and Terry gave it up. The 
race was telling on him now and his legs were get- 
ting heavy and his lungs hot. Into the homestretch 
they went, the crowd shouting wildly. As they sped 
past the mark the brazen gong clanged, announcing 
the beginning of the last lap, and at that instant 
Mullins dug his spikes and edged himself forward. 
Past his team-mate he went, past Terry, past Pillon, 
and took his place close behind Shores. From be- 
hind him Terry heard the Lacon supporters shout 
95 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

their triumph. He wondered where Walt was. 
Every instant he expected to see the blue-and-white 
runner edge past him. But they made the turn and 
straightened out and still Gordon held back. Terry 
grew frightened then. Shores and Mullins were 
gaining. Pillon came back steadily as Terry dug 
harder and sought to overtake the leaders. The 
unknown Lacon man — his name later turned out to 
have been Geary, but at the time Terry had to hate 
him without being able to put a name to him — crept 
up and past. Terry’s fleeting glimpse of him showed 
him a runner nearly “all in” but making a desperate 
effort. Terry took courage and set his pace by the 
unknown’s. And just then the sound from across 
the oval took on a new note and something appeared 
at Terry’s shoulder and slowly moved into sight and 
Terry, to his great relief, saw that the something 
was Walt Gordon. 

It was only when Walt had put a half-dozen yards 
between them and leaned to the turn that Terry 
realized with sudden alarm that Walt was in little 
better condition than the unknown who, just in front 
of Terry, was wavering badly, his head sagging. 
Shores yielded the lead to Mullins half-way around 
the turn and an instant later Terry passed the un- 
96 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 


known. He was running now with only a firm 
determination to finish. It would have been the 
greatest joy in life to have staggered aside and 
dropped full-length on the blurred expanse of sod 
at his feet. He wasn’t even thinking of points or 
places. He only wanted to finish what he had 
started, and he prayed silently and incoherently to 
be allowed to keep his feet past that distant white 
mark. 

Down at the finish were straining eyes and taut 
nerves, for the pole-vault was over and Lacon had 
won first place and fourth and the score now stood 
6 1 to 60 in favor of Maple Park. As the runners 
made the turn Maple Park’s supporters read defeat. 
Showing the pace, but still looking strong, came 
Mullins with a good five yard lead over Gordon, 
who was a scant yard ahead of Shores. Four or 
five paces behind them was Pillon, about ready to 
quit, and Terry, scarcely less willing. The unknown 
had disappeared. If Gordon had looked better 
Maple Park would have found reason to hope, but 
he was already slipping. For once his well-known 
ability to sprint at the finish was lacking. Terry, 
looking across the last comer, saw Walt’s head fall 
back. Walt recovered the next instant, but Terry 
97 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

understood. Pillon, too, was giving up. There 
was nothing to it now but Lacon, and maybe the 
Meet would go to the Cardinal-and- White ! Terry’s 
distorted face writhed with a scowl. If only he 
had somehow kept himself fresher! If only he could 
cut down that distance! They were in the home- 
stretch now and the finish was in sight. There 
wasn’t time, even if he had the strength and lungs. 

Pillon was no longer in sight to Terry now: only 
Shores, wobbling on his long, spindley legs, Walt, 
losing at every stride, and Mullins, ready to drop 
but still fighting. Still fighting! Why, two could 
play at that game! After all, thought Terry, he 
was still there and his legs were still working under 
him and his breath was still coming! Perhaps if 
he tried desperately There might be time . 

Somehow he reached Shores, ran even with him 
for an instant and passed him. Then Walt came 
back to him, slowly but surely. He was running 
in a dream now, a dream filled with a great noise 
that seemed to come from very far away, a dream 
that was a nightmare of leaden limbs and aching 
lungs and tired body. He felt no triumph when he 
pulled up to Walt, no exultation when he went past 
him. He hardly knew that he had done so. His 
98 


TERRY COMES THROUGH 
wavering gaze was fixed on the one last form be- 
tween him and the nearing goal. He knew now 
that he could never overtake it, but he kept on, 
doggedly, fighting against exhaustion at every 
stride. The great noise was louder in his ears but 
meant nothing to him. A little distance away down 
that interminable gray path other forms were 
stretched from rim to rim. When he got there he 
would be through. That would be wonderful ! 

Something tried to get in his way and he weakly 
put out a hand as though to push it aside, but some 
saving sense, or it may have been utter weakness, 
prevented, and he let it fall again. He scraped 
slowly past the obstacle, slowly because the obstacle 
appeared to be going his way and hung at his elbow 
for what seemed long minutes, and staggered on. 
Once his feet got sort of confused and he nearly 
fell, but he saved himself. He had forgotten Mul- 
lins now, everything save his desire to reach that 
goal, to finish what he had attempted, to come 
through ! And suddenly he was struggling weakly 
against arms that tried to hold him back, panting, 
swaying. 

“Let me alone !” he gasped. “Let me — finish !” 

99 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“You have finished, Terry !” said a voice that 
was very far away. “You’ve won, you crazy kid!” 

So that’s how Terry “came through” and how 
Maple Park School discovered a new miler. Also 
how the Blue-and- White won the Dual Meet from 
Lacon, for Walt Gordon staggered over in fourth 
place, making the final figures 67 to 65. Walt was 
never quite the same after that, for his self-esteem 
had had a pretty severe blow, and as a result he 
was much more likeable. He must have been, else 
he and Terry would never have roomed together 
the next year. 


SPOOKS 


D aniel webster jones, Jr., had 

solemnly pronounced anathema, maledic- 
tion and imprecation upon Talbot Cum- 
mings. He had put his whole heart and soul into 
it and concentrated until his head felt funny. That 
had been yesterday afternoon, just after dinner, 
and now, more than twenty-four hours later, there 
was Cummings stalking untroubledly along the 
sloppy walk in the direction of the library, for all 
the world as if Jonesie’s passionate utterances had 
been benedictions and blessings. Gee, it was enough 
to make a fellow doubt the efficacy of condemnation ! 
Jonesie flattened his somewhat button-like nose 
against the pane in order to watch his enemy’s 
ascent of the library steps. It was February, and 
such things as steps and walks were treacherous 
surfaces of glaring ice under pools of water. But 
Cummings never even faltered, and Jonesie’s radiant 
vision of his enemy prostrate with a number of 
101 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


broken limbs and all sorts of mysterious internal j 
injuries, to say nothing of outward contusions, ] 
lacerations and abrasions, faded into thin air. A J 
prey to keen disappointment, his painfully oblique 1 
gaze unwavering, Jonesie watched Cummings dis- f 
appear and the big oak door closed behind him. 

Disconsolately he sank back on the window-seat, j 
rearranged his feet on “Sparrow” Bowles’ treasured • 
crimson silk cushion and again took up his book. * 
But although it was one of Kingston’s corkingest a 
sea-yams, to-day it failed to hold Jonesie’s atten- 
tion, and presently it was face-down on that young 
gentleman’s stomach while his thoughts pursued the 
hated Cummings. 

Cummings, you must know, had dealt a frightful 
blow at Jonesie’s dignity. Cummings might call 
it a joke, but its victim viewed it rather as a 
dastardly attempt to disgrace him. It had started 
with a perfectly excusable confusion of words on 
Jonesie’s part; and if blame lay anywhere save on 
Cummings it lay on the English language, which 
contained words that looked alike and meant 
differently. 

Cummings, who roomed next door, had dropped 
in to borrow an eraser, and while Jonesie, who 
102 


SPOOKS 


didn’t possess such a thing, was obligingly rummag- 
ing through the cherished treasures of the absent 
roommate, Cummings’s reptilian eye had fallen on 
a composition on which his host had been engaged 
and which he had left on the table. Jonesie had 
next heard a choking sound from the visitor and 
had then witnessed his hurried departure, composi- 
tion in hand. Surprised, Jonesie had made outcry. 
Then, suspicious, nay, chilled with dire apprehen- 
sion, he had given chase. But a moment of delay 
had been his undoing. Below on the steps, where, 
since it was a mild, thawing day, most of the in- 
habitants of the dormitory were awaiting two 
o’clock recitations, Cummings was already reading 
aloud Jonesie’s epochal essay. “ ‘The ancient 
Greeks/ ” gurgled the traitorous Cummings, “ ‘had 
a law forbidding a man to have more than one 
wife.’ ” The reader’s voice broke, and Jonesie felt 
that the tears were near his eyes. “ ‘This they 
called monotony !’ ” 

“Well, what’s wrong with it?” Jonesie had de- 
manded indignantly, striving to recover the paper. 
And that, somehow, had increased the hilarity. 
After that it was no use pretending that he had 
discovered the mistake and was in the act of 


103 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
remedying it when Cummings had entered, no use 
declaring, as a final desperate resort, that he had 
purposely written it that way for fun. No one 
believed him, no one even listened to him. Every- 
one just laughed and laughed ! For a minute Jonesie 
had laughed, too, but he couldn’t keep it up. And 
Cummings had waved the beastly paper out of his 
reach and gurgled “ This they called monotony * ” 
over and over, until Jonesie’s temper had fled and 
he had kicked at Cummings’s shins and promised 
to get even if it took him a million years ! He had 
said other things, too, which we won’t set down 
here. And his tormentor had simply laughed and 
choked and gurgled, and fought him off weakly 
until, after awhile, a lucky grab had secured the 
tom and wrinkled paper and Jonesie had fled back 
to his room with it. Since then life had been a 
horrible nightmare. His appearance in class rooms 
had been the signal for idiotic grins and whisper- 
ings. The demure smiles of the instructors showed 
to what far distances the story had spread. Dining 
hall was a torture chamber. “What was that law 
the ancient Greeks had, Jonesie?” came to him 
across the table, or “Guess I’ll try the apple sauce, 
Billy, just to vary the monotony.” 

104 


SPOOKS 

As I have said, the month was February, and 
February at prep school corresponds to August in 
the larger world. IPs the “silly season.” The 
weather is too utterly “punk” for outdoor life. De- 
testable thaws ruin sledding, skating and skiing. It 
it still too early for Spring sports. Even mid-year 
examinations are things of the past. Gray skies, 
frequent rains, rotten ice, slush and mud: that’s 
February. Studying wearies, reading palls, one 
tires of everything. Room-mates who have lived 
together in harmony for months throw hair-brushes 
at each other and don’t speak for days at a time. 
It is, in brief, a deadly dull, wearisome season, a 
season in which the healthy boy welcomes anything 
that promises to enliven his pallid existence, when 
mischief finds its innings and when the weakest, 
sorriest joke is hailed as roaring farce. At almost 
any other time the jest on Jonesie would have been 
laughed at good-naturedly and forgotten the next 
day, but now it was a thing to be treasured and 
acclaimed, nourished and perpetuated. Jonesie 
knew that until baseball practice started, or — or one 
of the school dormitories burned to the ground or 
something equally interesting happened, he would 
not hear the end of that putrid joke, and that if 


105 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


he had ever been uncertain of the correct meaning 
of the word monotony that uncertainty was gone! 

Disturbed by such knowledge, he stirred fretfully 
and the book fell to the floor and lay there unheeded 
while his thoughts engaged the subject of curses. 
He had always understood that a curse if properly 
formulated and delivered with earnestness and 
solemnity invariably did the business. Only just 
before Christmas Recess he had read a corking 
story in which a quite ordinary curse had worked 
wonders. He tried to find flaws in the maledictions 
he had cast on Cummings but couldn’t. As he re- 
called them they were perfectly regular, standard 
curses, and he didn’t see why nothing had happened. 
Of course, it might be that curses didn’t act right 
off quick. Or it might be — and Jonesie gave a men- 
tal jump at the thought — that it was necessary to 
sort of help the curse along. Maybe it wasn’t 
enough to just launch it : maybe you were supposed 
to get behind and shove! In other words, if he 
wanted ill-fortune in its most dreaded form to over- 
whelm the obnoxious Cummings perhaps he had 
better set his mind at work and sort of — sort of 
think of something! Not a bad idea at all! Be- 
106 


SPOOKS 


sides, hadn’t he most earnestly promised Cummings 
to get even with him ? He had. Therefor . 

Jonesie knit his troubled brow and half closed his 
innocent gray-blue eyes and gave himself to the 
problem. There was no use in attempting physical 
punishment, for Cummings was seventeen and 
Jonesie fourteen, and Cummings was tall and broad 
and mighty and Jonesie was only what his age war- 
ranted. No, what was needed, what was demanded 
was a revenge that would hold Cummings up to 
public ridicule as Jonesie had been held up and keep 
him suspended until the world tired of laughing. 
But just how . 

The door of the adjoining room banged shut and 
Jonesie knew that Cummings had returned from 
the library. A second bang proclaimed books 
deposited on the table. He hoped Cummings had 
failed to get what he wanted. One usually did at 
the school library. He heard his hated neighbor 
draw his chair to the window and heard it creak 
under its load. If only, thought Jonesie, it would 
give way instead of always threatening to! Eying 
the door between the rooms that hid the enemy 
from sight, Jonesie contemplated a fresh curse; 
something with more “pep” than yesterday’s; less 
107 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

academic and more in the vernacular. But that 
would necessitate arising, and he was very com- I 
fortable, and he decided to give the original curse 
another twenty-four hours to deliver the goods; . 
meanwhile, of course, aiding and abetting said curse 
to the best of his ability so soon as his cogitations 
should suggest . 

The cogitations ceased and Jonesie, his gaze still 
on the communicating door, slid noiselessly from 
the window-seat and tiptoed across the room until 
he stood in front of it. Then, thrusting hands into i 
pockets to aid thought, he began a slow, close and 
minute study of it. It was quite an ordinary door, 
placed there when the dormitory was built in order, 
presumably, that the two rooms might be thrown 
together and used as study and sleeping apartment. 
But Randall’s didn’t believe in too great luxury, 
and you drew only one room and, if economical, 
shared it with another fellow. Talbot Cummings * 
didn’t share his, which to Jonesie was most satis- d 
factory. Jonesie whistled under his breath as his 
eager eyes became acquainted with every niche and 
angle and knot and bit of hardware before him. 

Of course the door was locked, and the key was 
doubtless in safe keeping at the office, but besides 
108 


SPOOKS 


being locked it was secured by a bolt on each side ; 
and some secretive former occupant of Jonesie’s 
room had plugged up the keyhole with red sealing- 
wax. When it did open it swung into the adjoining 
room, and, as the hinges were on the inward side 
of the door, Jonesie was denied contemplation of 
them. He was also denied contemplation of the 
knob for the excellent reason that it was not there. 
He recalled having detached it but couldn't remem- 
ber for what purpose. Not that it mattered, how- 
ever, for what is a knob between enemies ? 

At intervals Jonesie retired to the window-seat 
and scowled over his problem. At intervals he arose 
hopefully and stared anew at the door. Beyond 
it, unsuspecting of the malign influences at work, 
Cummings read on in peace. The brief afternoon 
darkened to twilight. Across the yard pale lemon- 
yellow pin-points of flame struggled above the en- 
trances. Below the door a thin line of radiance 
indicated that Cummings had lighted up. But in 
Jonesie's room darkness crept from the shadowed 
comers until only the window remained visible, a 
grayish oblong in the encompassing gloom. And 
presently the eerie silence was shattered by the 
sound of a sinister chuckle. 


109 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Daniel Webster Jones, Jr., arose phenomenally 
early the next morning and at eight o’clock, having 
attended chapel and eaten a hearty, if hurried break- 
fast, might have been seen entering the popular 
hardware emporium of Bliss & Benedict. At four 
minutes to nine, after a return journey through un- 
frequented streets and alleys and an entrance to 
the building by way of the furnace room door, he 
turned the key in the lock of Number 14 and un- 
burdened himself of numerous packages which he 
thereupon secreted where they would be safe from 
the prying eyes of the chamber-maid. After which 
he seized on certain books and hurried to a nine 
o’clock recitation. 

It cannot be truthfully said that he was a shining 
success in classrooms that morning, although he 
managed somehow to “fake” through. His fresh, j 
cherubic countenance shone with the light of a high 
resolve and for the first time in two days he faced 
the world with fearless eyes. Whispered jibes fell 
from him harmlessly. Instructors, noting his in- 
nocence and nobility, viewed him with a suspicion 
born of experience. 

At ten-thirty Jonesie had a free half-hour. Re- 
turning to his dormitory he glanced across to 

110 


SPOOKS 


the second floor of Manning and was filled with 
gratitude. For there, in the school infirmary, “Spar- 
row” Bowles was interned with mumps. Three days 
ago Jonesie had deeply resented his room-mate’s 
good fortune, charging the Fates with inexcusable 
favoritism, but to-day he had no fault to find. Envy 
and all uncharitableness had departed from him. 
Indeed, instead of begrudging “Sparrow” his luck, 
he sincerely hoped that the malady would continue 
for at least a week longer! 

I now offer to your attention Talbot Cummings. 
Cummings was an Upper Middler, a large, some- 
what ungainly youth of seventeen addicted to book- 
ishness and boils. But in spite of much reading he 
was not a learned nor brilliant youth, and in spite 
of the boils he had little of Job’s patience. He 
thought rather well of himself, however, and prided 
himself on a delicate wit which was really rather 
more blatant than delicate. In spite of the fact 
that he avoided all forms of athletics and abhorred 
physical exertion, he was well-built and, when free 
from gauze and surgeon’s plaster, was rather 
comely. Upper class fellows viewed him tolerantly 
and lower class boys pretended an admiration they 
didn’t feel because he had an uncanny ability for 
111 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


finding their weak spots and holding them tip to 
ridicule. As has been said, Cummings lived alone. 
In the matter of furnishings he affected artistic 
simplicity, leaning toward fumed oak and brown 
leather. His study — he liked to call it study rather 
than room — was supposed to express individuality. 
The table was never littered. There was a very 
good-looking drop-light with a near-Tiffany shade, 
three or four soberly-clad books, an always-im- 
maculate blotting-pad and a large bronze ink-well 
which, as he invariably wrote with a fountain-pen, 
was more ornamental than necessary. So much for 
the table. The dresser, instead of being the 
repository for numerous photographs and miscel- 
laneous toilet articles, held a pair of silver-backed 
military brushes, a silver shoe-horn and one large 
photograph in a silver frame. The bookcase was 
always orderly. The window-seat adhered to the 
color scheme of brown and tan, the tan necessitated 
by the wall paper, which was not of his choosing. 
The cushions were of brown ooze leather or crafts- 
man’s canvas. If I have seemed to dwell overlong 
on the room and its furnishings it is for a reasoii 
presently to be perceived. 

At a few minutes after twelve that day Cummings 
112 


SPOOKS 


threw open the door of his study and paused amazed. 
Nothing was where it should have been. The lovely 
near-Tiffany shade rested precariously atop a pile of 
pillows in the middle of the floor. The drop-light 
dangled over the edge of the table. The volumes 
in the bookcase leaned tipsily outward at various 
angles. The silver-framed photograph smiled 
blithely from the top of the radiator. And so it 
went. Everything was elaborately misplaced. Cum- 
mings viewed and swallowed hard, doubled his fists 
and hammered at the portal of Daniel Webster 
Jones, Jr. There was no reply and the door proved 
to be locked. Bitterly, Cummings vowed that so his 
own door should be hereafter ! It took him a long 
time to restore order and he narrowly escaped being 
late for dinner. 

He failed to encounter Jonesie until four o’clock. 
Then they met in a pool of water in front of 
Whipple and Cummings spoke his mind to an 
amazed and uncomprehending audience. Cummings 
offered to accommodate Jonesie in a number of 
ways, to wit: to break his head for him, to kick 
him across the yard, to make his nose even stubbier 
than it was and to report him to faculty. Jonesie 
closed with none of the offers. Instead he viewed 
113 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


the irate Cummings with surprise and heard him 
patiently, and in the end Cummings was assailed by 
doubts, although he didn’t allow the fact to be 
known. Surely such an innocent countenance and 
demeanor could not hide guile! Fearing that he 
might apologize to Jonesie if he remained longer, 
he tore himself away, muttering a last unconvincing 
threat. 

Cummings slept that night, as always, with his 
door locked and a chair-back tilted under the knob. 
(Once in his first year at Randall’s there had been 
a midnight visitation attended by unpleasant and 
degrading ceremonies.) In the morning he awoke 
to find that the pillows had moved from the window- 
seat to the foot of the bed, doubtless accounting for 
a certain half-sensed discomfort. Also that his 
clothing, left neatly arranged over a chair, now 
lay scattered over the floor. He arose in a murder- 
ous mood and tried the door. It was securely locked, 
the key was in place and there was the guardian 
chair just as he had left it. He cast unjustly sus- 
picious looks at the eleven-inch transom. It was 
closed as usual, nor could it be opened from without 
in any case. He went to the window. Below was 
a sheer twelve feet of straight brick wall. From his 
114 


SPOOKS 

casement to the casement on either side the distance 
was a good three yards. Then and not until then 
his gaze fell on the communicating door and he 
said “Ha” triumphantly and seized the knob. It 
came forth in his hands and he staggered half across 
the room. When he had recovered himself he said 
“Huh!” But further investigations left him still 
puzzled, for the stout bolt on his own side of the 
door was shot into its socket and secured. Cum- 
mings went to breakfast in a detached frame of 
mind that caused him to walk into Mr. Mundy, the 
Hall Master, in the corridor, and, later, to say “yes” 
when he meant to say “no.” As a result of the 
latter mistake “Puffin” Welch seized on his second 
roll and devoured it before Cummings awoke to the 
situation. 

Thus, then, began the amazing series of depreda- 
tory visitations that befell Talbot Cummings; or, 
rather, his study, for so long as he was on hand 
nothing befell. All one morning he remained un- 
comfortably concealed beneath the bed, thereby 
cutting four recitations and being obliged to invent 
an unconvincing attack of toothache. And while 
he lay there, inhaling dust, he heard Jonesie arrive 
gayly next door, remain for a half-hour of song 
115 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

and depart lightsomely. It was while he was 
describing that toothache to the Principal that 
vandalism again occured. When he returned, far 
from happy, he found that, in spite of locked door 
and window, his near-Tiffany shade sat on the rug 
surmounted by “Travels in Arctic Lands” and the 
bronze ink-well, the latter, fortunately, empty. The 
silver- framed photograph lay on its face and the 
contents of the lower dresser drawer, or most of 
them, were lying about the floor. Cummings dropped 
into a chair, grabbed his neatly-arranged hair in 
both hands and raged. 

Like most persons who appreciate a joke on an- 
other, Cummings hated ridicule when directed 
against himself. It was principally for this reason 
that for three days he kept the matter quiet. A 
lesser reason was that he didn’t like to believe that 
anyone was smarter than Talbot Cummings and 
that he thought he could eventually outwit the per- 
petrator of the dastardly deeds. His suspicions had 
long since returned irrevocably to Jonesie. He re- 
called the incident of the composition and Jonesie’s 
threats to get even. But there was no use charging 
that youth again with the crime until he had proof, 
and proof was not forthcoming. At first he sus- 
116 


SPOOKS 


pected Jonesie of having a duplicate key to the 
corridor door, but reflection told him that all the 
duplicate keys in the world wouldn’t allow Jonesie 
or anyone else to enter the room and retire without 
disturbing the key that was on the inside or the 
chair that was under the knob. And after he had 
added a specially large and heavy bolt he was still 
more certain that the vandal did not come in that 
way. Neither did he enter by the window. He 
proved that by locking it and finding it still locked 
after the bed-clothes had transferred themselves to 
the window-seat. Nor was it possible that Jonesie 
came in by the communicating door, for there was 
the undisturbed bolt, a key-hole filled with sealing- 
wax and a piece of paper still reposing between door 
and frame, just where Cummings had craftily placed 
it. Cummings spent so much time trying to solve 
the mystery that studies suffered and he was spoken 
to harshly more than once. The thing even began 
to affect his appetite, and at last, when seven 
separate times he had found his study turned topsy- 
turvy, he offered an armistice. 

“Come in!” called Jonesie. 

Entered Cummings, smiling knowingly, and seated 
117 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
himself with a fine nonchalance. Jonesie, looking 
up from Latin, eyed him with disfavor. 

“What you grinning about ?” he demanded coldly. 

Cummings winked and leered. “You win,” he 
announced cheerfully, and manged a deprecatory 
laugh. Jonesie frowned darkly. 

“Win what?” 

“You know. I don’t know how you do it — That 
is, I’m not certain, but I have an idea. Anyhow, 
it’s clever, Jonesie. You had me guessing at first, 
all right. But I guess we’re quits now, eh?” 

“Would you mind giving me a hint? I’ve got 
Latin and math to get and there isn’t much time for 
conundrums, Cummings. If it’s one of the ‘What’s- 
the-difference-between’ kind, I never could guess 
those.” 

“Oh, don’t keep it up. I tell you I give in, don’t 
I ? What more do you want ?” 

“Say, what are you gabbing about, anyway ?” in- 
quired Jonesie crossly. ' “If you’ve got something 
on your mind come out with it.” 

“You know plaguey well what I’m talking about,” 
replied Cummings, losing his temper. “I came in 
here ready to call quits. If you won’t have it, all 
118 


SPOOKS 


right. Then I’ll go to Faculty. A joke’s a joke, 
but you don’t need to keep it up forever !” 

“Of course not; that’s what they call monotony ” 
Jonesie agreed blandly. Cummings scowled. 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you? Well, you 
won’t when you get hauled up at the Office.” 

“What for?” 

“What for! For — for making a beastly pig-pen 
of my study! For upsetting my things! You know 
what for!” 

“Not again ?” exclaimed Jonesie in shocked tones. 

“Half a dozen times ! More ! I’m sick of it. A 1 
joke’s a joke ” 

“You said that before,” said the other, sweetly. 
“Now look here, Cummings: you blamed me two 
or three days ago for ‘pieing’ your room. I stood 
for that, but I’m not going to have you keep it 
up all ” 

“Then you quit ” 

“ — The year. If — if you annoy me any more 
with — with your unjust accusations I’ll go straight 
to Faculty. It — it’s getting monotonous” 

Cummings’s jaw fell and for a moment speech 
deserted him. At last: “You’ll go to Faculty! Ha, 

ha ! Why, you — you little button-nosed ” 

119 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Never mind my nose. At least I keep it out of 
other fellows’ affairs! I don’t ” 

“You keep it out of my study then! Just once 
more ” 

“Don’t be an ass, Cummings,” begged Jonesie. 
“How could I get into your old study if the door’s 
locked ? Use your bean.” 

“I don’t knozv how you do it! I wish I did! 
But you do it! I’m sick of it. And you’ll break 
something first thing you know! I — I ought to 
knock the stuffing out of you, Jonesie, that’s what 
I ought to do. I’ve stood mor’n most fellows would 
stand.” 

“Try it and see what happens, old dear.” 

“Oh, yes, you’d run to Faculty with it !” 

“Like a shot,” agreed Jonesie. 

“All right, two can do that. It’ll be probation 
for you just as soon ” 

“That doesn’t frighten me. When a fellow’s 
conscience is clear ” 

“Yah!” Cummings made for the door. “We’ll 
see! Just wait!” 

“Right-o ! But, I say, Cummings. If you want 
to know what I think, I think it’s spooks !” 

Cummings slammed the door behind him and 
120 


SPOOKS 


Jonesie looking past the green-shaded drop-light, 
fixed his gaze on a recently acquired article of 
adornment, a large, brighty-colored calendar, which 
hung on the knobless door, and winked gravely. 

“Funny about Cummings's spooks, isn't it?” ob- 
served Jonesie later to Turner, of the Lower 
Middle. 

“Haven't heard,” replied Turner eagerly. “What 
is it?” 

Jonesie seemed surprised at the other's ignorance 
and enlightened it. He really made a very interest- 
ing yarn of it and when he had finished Turner 
was grinning from ear to ear. “Fine!” he chortled. 
“Oh, corking! And, say, Jonesie.” Turner's right 
eye closed slyly. “Of course you know nothing 
about it, eh?” 

“Me? Give you my word, Tom, I haven't set 
foot in his room in weeks! Besides, how could I? 
How could any fellow, with his door locked and 
everything? It's spooks, that’s what it is.” 

Turner was Randall's nearest approach to a town 
crier. If Jonesie didn't want the story to spread 
he shouldn’t have told Turner. It was careless of 
him, for inside of two hours the mysterious hap- 
penings in Talbot Cummings’s room were known 
121 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

all over the school. Cummings attempted denial, 
but it was no use. Randall’s had found a new sen- 
sation and refused to be deprived of it. Cummings 
had to tell his story over and over, until he was 
sick and tired of it. It wouldn’t have been so bad 
had it been accepted seriously, but it wasn’t. His 
audiences invariably became hilarious and offered 
all sorts of nonsensical advice, like putting sticky 
fly-paper on the floor, erecting barbed-wire entangle- 
ments or ringing burglar-alarms. The younger boys, 
long intimidated, fairly haunted Cummings and 
with solemn countenances begged to be told about 
the spooks. His room became a Mecca for the 
curious and he had no privacy. Cummings was 
most unhappy, so unhappy that when he awoke the 
following morning and, in spite of having laid 
awake and watchful until well after two, found his 
counterpane abloom like a flower garden with his 
neckties, he metaphorically threw up the sponge. 
Those ties had been neatly arranged in the top 
drawer of his dresser, and the top drawer was 
now not only tightly closed but the key was turned 
in the lock! It was too much! It was — yes, sir, 
it was spooky! Cummings dressed hurriedly and 
tumbled down to Mr. Mundy’s study and in- 
122 


SPOOKS 


coherently told his tale. Mr. Mundy was young 
and a man of action. In four minutes he was at 
the scene of the crime. 

Ten minutes later he owned to defeat. He had 
found the window secured, the door between the 
rooms showed that it had not been opened at least 
in months by the accumulation of dust and lint in 
the interstices, the transom was impossible and 
Cummings had shown him how the corridor door 
had been fastened: lock turned and key left cross- 
wise, bolt shot and engaged, chair wedged under 
knob. Mr. Mundy frowned and shook his head. 
There was just one explanation. He offered it 
kindly. “What you’ve been doing, my boy, is walk- 
ing in your sleep. Maybe you don’t get enough 
exercise during the day. Then sleeping with every- 
thing shut up like this ” 

“But I don’t walk in my sleep in the daytime, 
do I?” asked Cummings wildly. Mr. Mundy 
looked blank. 

“N-no, but are you — ahem — are you quite cer- 
tain ” 

“Yes, sir,” declared Cummings bitterly. “IPs 
worse in the daytime.” 

“Hum. And he denies it utterly ?” 

ns 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Yes, he does, but I know it’s him, Mr. 
Mundy !” 

“He” corrected the instructor from force of 
habit. ‘Til have a talk with him. Stay here.” 

Jonesie opened promptly, the picture of smiling 
innocence. And he spoke so convincingly! “Mr. 
Mundy, I really think you’d ought to do something 
about him, sir,” he said concernedly. “He comes 
in here and tells the strangest stories and accuses 
me of annoying him. He says I go into his room 
and disarrange his things when he’s out He even 
says I do it when he’s in bed. He’s threatened to 
lick me, sir.” Cummings, listening beyond the 
door, shook a fist helplessly. “You know that isn’t 
right, sir,” pleaded Jonesie. “He says himself he 
locks the room up tight. I ask you, sir, how I 
could get in there if I wanted to.” 

“Quite so, Jones, quite so, but — ahem — hasn’t 
there been some ill-feeling between you two re- 
cently?” 

“Why, he came in here and swiped a composition 
of mine off the table and read it to the fellows 
and had a laugh on me, but that was days ago 
and I don’t care anything about it now, sir. If 
124 


SPOOKS 

he’d just stop having these — these hallucinations 
of his ” 

“Hallucinations, eh?” Mr. Mundy repressed a 
smile. “I wonder.” He sauntered to the com- 
municating door and studied it attentively. He 
even lifted the large and brilliant calendar and 
looked behind it, and Jonesie, watching politely and 
imperturbably, blinked twice. Then Mr. Mundy 
gazed at the place where the knob should have 
been. 

“Where’s the knob?” 

“I don’t know, sir. It’s been gone a long while.” 

“Hm.” The instructor seemed about to ask a 
second question, but changed his mind. Instead, 
he threw his weight against the door. It didn’t even 
creak. He turned to Jonesie. 

“When was the last time you were in Cum- 
mings’s room?” he asked suddenly. 

“About nine weeks ago, sir. It was before 
Christmas recess.” 

“That’s the absolute truth, Jones?” 

“Oh, yes, sir!” Jonesie looked slightly hurt. 

“Very well. That’s all. If I were you I’d — 
ahem — I’d find that knob, Jones. Or one like it.” 

The door closed behind the instructor and 
125 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
Jonesie subsided in the nearest chair, grinning like 
the famous Cheshire Cat. 

Next door Mr. Mundy spoke firmly but kindly 
to Cummings. “If I were you/' he said, “I’d go 
in for some sort of regular exercise besides your 
gymnasium work. Be out of doors more, Cum- 
mings. You might take a good long walk every 
day; three or four miles. Aren’t worrying about 
anything, are you?” 

“I’m worrying about having my room upset 
every time I turn my back,” said the boy excitedly. 
“That’s what ” 

“Yes, yes,” soothed Mr. Mundy. “But I think 
if you’ll follow my advice regarding the walks and 
being out of doors you’ll find that — ahem — your 
worries will cease. About three miles to-day, to 
start with, eh? And drop in this evening and tell 
me where you went and what you saw.” He nodded 
encouragingly and departed. 

Oddly enough, Cummings did just what Jonesie 
had done a minute before. That is, he subsided 
into a chair. But he didn’t grin. He groaned. 
“Three miles!” he muttered. “ Great Scott!” 

But he did them. He didn’t dare not to. And 
when he stumbled back, at five, foot-sore and ach- 
126 


SPOOKS 


in g from the unaccustomed effort, he found his 
study sickeningly confused. “It’s fine for him ” 
he thought bitterly. “He knows Pm safe out of 
the way for an hour. Mundy makes me sick !” 

Supper that evening was torture, for he was 
tired and discouraged to start with and everyone 
he met asked about his spooks. He lost his temper 
completely with Turner and that youth had the 
cheek to read him a lecture on manners He an- 
ticipated some satisfaction in reporting to Mr. 
Mundy that his walk had not prevented the “pie- 
ing” of his study, but the instructor told him that 
he mustn’t expect his prescription to work so soon. 
“Keep on, Cummings,” he said cheerfully. “It’ll 
soon tell. Try four miles to-morrow.” 

But Cummings was through. He climbed wear- 
ily upstairs and knocked at Number 14. “When 
do you want to quit, Jonesie?” he asked humbly. 

“I won’t pretend to ignorance of your meaning,” 
replied Jonesie grandly. “I’ve been thinking about 
your case, Cummings, and I’ve solved it.” Cum- 
mings moistened his lips but said nothing. “It’s 
your conscience that’s at the bottom of all this, 
old man. I believe that if you clear your conscience 
you’ll stop imagining things.” 

127 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“Imagining !” gasped Cummings. 

Jonesie nodded. “You have something on your 
conscience, haven’t you? You’ve done something 
you’re sorry for? Something you repent of, 
Cummings ?” 

Cummings nodded, all fight gone. “I guess so,” 
he muttered. “I — I’m sorry, Jonesie. I apologize.” 

“For what?” 

“You know. Reading that composition.” 

“Oh! Why, I’d most forgotten that. So many 
things have happened since to — to vary the monot- 
ony, Cummings. But it’s decent of you to apologize, 
old man. And I accept it. I never hold grudges, 
Cummings. That’s not my way. If I can’t show 
fellows somehow that they have made a mistake, 
why, I forget it. So that's all right.” 

“And — and it won’t happen again?” pleaded 
Cummings. 

“Not if my theory is right, old dear, and I think 
it is. In fact I almost think I can promise, Cum- 
mings, that it won’t happen again.” 

It didn’t. Jonesie’s theory was vindicated. 

Three days later “Sparrow” Bowles returned 
from the infirmary, and one of the first things he 
did was to take exception to Jonesie’s beautiful 
128 


SPOOKS 


calendar. But if he hoped to start something he 
was disappointed. “That’s all right,” said Jonesie, 
“take it down. I’m through with it, anyway.” So 
“Sparrow” removed it, and, having done so, re- 
garded the door closely. 

“Someone,” said “Sparrow,” “has been monkey- 
ing with this panel. Looks to me like it had been 
out. That’s funny !” 

Jonesie yawned. “Maybe the heat’s loosened it,” 
he suggested. 

A few days later “Sparrow” observed: “Hello, 
I didn’t know you had one of these electric 
torches.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know, son,” said 
Jonesie; adding to himself: “You don’t know what 
can be done with a fishing rod with a piece of wire 
on the end of it, for one thing!” 


THE QUITTER 


T HEY were revising the line-up for the final 
game of the season, that with Fairfield, 
when Jack Groom entered: Coach Thorn- 
ton, Payson Walsh, manager; Larry Logan, quar- 
terback; and Jim Walsh, left guard. Had Tinker, 
the trainer, been on hand too, the Board of Foot- 
ball Strategy of Staunton School would have been, 
with Jack’s advent, complete. “Tink’s” absence, 
however, had been ^discounted: and the same was 
true of Jack, for none of those in the coach’s study 
had expected the captain to hobble all that half-mile 
between campus and village. There were four 
simultaneous exclamations of surprise when he ap- 
peared in the doorway. 

“Oh, Doc says I’m out of it for good,” defended 
Jack. He lowered himself into a chair, leaned his 
crutches alongside and scowled malignantly at the 
bulky swathings of his right foot. 

“Maybe, son, but you don’t want to have trouble 
130 


THE QUITTER 

with that ankle, even if you can’t play/’ said Mr. 
Thornton. 

“I’ve got all winter to coddle it,” Jack growled. 
“Shove that footstool over, Larry, will you? Well, 
what have you decided?” 

“There wasn’t much to decide, Cap,” replied the 
coach. “With you out of it ” 

“Preston or Morely.” 

“Exactly. And it’s Preston, to my mind.” There 
was a suggestion of challenge in Mr. Thornton’s 
voice. Jack glanced at the others. Logan nodded, 
and so did Payson Walsh, but his brother remained 
non-committal. 

“Ted Morely played a pretty snappy game to-day^ 
after I came out,” suggested Jack. 

“Oh, Morely’s all right,” agreed the coach, “but 
in my opinion Preston’s a better man to start the 
game Saturday. We’ve got to get the jump on 
Fairfield, Cap, and to do that we ought to start 
with the best we have. Morely’s smart and fast 
and — and snappy, but I consider Preston more de- 
pendable.” 

“Sure,” said the manager. “Ted’s a quitter.” 

Jack turned to him, but Jim Walsh was quicker. 

131 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
"Cut that, Pay,” he growled. "You never saw Ted 
Morely quit in your life.” 

"Well, you know what I mean,” his brother pro- 
tested. "Maybe he isn’t a quitter, exactly, but — 
he quits! Doesn’t he, now? Didn’t he lie down in 
the Fielding game? Oh, I know he did something 
to his shoulder, but he was all right the next morn- 
ing. It couldn’t have been much. I like Ted, but 
when it comes to picking a right half for Satur- 
day ” 

"The trouble is that he’s always getting hurt,” 
said Logan. 

"He’s all right now,” Jack said. "He has had 
punk luck, I’ll grant you, but being laid up a couple 
of times hasn’t got anything to do with Saturday. 
And you say yourselves that he played a snappy 
game to-day.” 

"I don’t believe it matters an awful lot,” said the 
coach. "It isn’t likely the chap who starts will 
finish, anyway. But you’re captain, and if you say 
Morely ” 

"I’m not captain any longer,” returned Jack. 
"Larry had better take it on, hadn’t he? As for 
using Ted, I haven’t anything to say. Only you’re 
wrong about him. He’s played in hard luck, that’s 
132 


THE QUITTER 

all. I knew him back home. He didn’t play foot- 
ball then, but he was always a mighty spunky chap, 
and I never saw anything that looked like quitting. 
He is a bit light, but he’s a fighter, and he can do 
more damage in a broken field than anyone we have. 
I’ve heard fellows say, or intimate, just what Pay 
said a minute ago; that Ted’s a quitter. It’s too 
bad, for it’s a rank injustice, and I’d like to see 
him have a chance to prove it. But I’m not going 
to insist on playing him. You’re running this show, 
Coach, and after this minute I’m not going to have 
another word to say about it. After this Larry’s 
captain. I’m out of it.” 

“Field captain, of course,” said the coach. 
“You’re still the real captain, Jack, and we want 
your advice and your help as much as ever.” 

“Nothing doing!” Jack shook his head. “You 
won’t hear me open my mouth again, Thornton. 
I’m off. Anyone going up?” 

“I’ll go along, I guess,” said Jim Walsh. “You 
don’t need me any more, do you, Coach?” 

"‘No, I guess not. We don’t have to decide about 
Morely until the game starts, anyway, Cap. If you 
still think ” 

“I’ve stopped thinking,” answered Jack, smiling, 
133 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


as he worked his crutches under his arm and, aided 
by Jim, swung himself up. “Good-night, every- 
body.” 

“Hard luck,” said Pay son Walsh as the depart- 
ing couple passed down the short brick walk to the 
street and went off through the rustling leaves that 
lay thick on the sidewalk. “Poor Jack! I’ll bet 
he’s feeling perfectly rotten.” 

“I know he is,” said Larry Logan. “When Jack 

doesn’t laugh once in a quarter of an hour ” 

He shook his head eloquently. 

“We’ll miss him Saturday,” mused the coach. “I 
don’t mean any reflection on you, Logan.” 

“I know. A team always feels lost without its 
captain. It’s going to make a difference in our 
chances of winning, too. I still think we can pull 
it out, but — we’ll have to work harder to do it.” I 

“Funny to have it happen in a game like to- 
day’s,” grumbled the manager. “Why, it was the 
easiest game of the season !” 



‘You never can tell about that,” replied 


“You get hurt when you least expect it. Remember 
two years ago when Tommy Winship broke his arm 



THE QUITTER 

He stretched and yawned widely. “Gee, I’m tired! 
It was too blamed hot to-day for football.” 

“Yes,” the coach agreed, absently. He was mak- 
ing meaningless marks on the edge of the paper 
I before him. After a moment: “I suppose it would 
| be a decent thing to please Jack under the circum- 
stances and start Morely instead of Preston,” he 
said thoughtfully. “I don’t believe it would matter 
much, anyway.” 

“Pleasing Jack isn’t what we’re here for,” said 
Payson Walsh, frowning. “We want to win a week 
from to-day, Coach. That’s our stunt. Ted 
Morely’s a sort of protege of Jack’s, and Jack thinks 
Ted’s been misjudged, and he wants to give the 
I chap a chance to prove it. He said so himself. 
But we’re not staging the contest for Morely’s 
benefit. If he’s got the reputation of being a quitter 
— and as a matter of fact he has, as you know, 
Larry — it’s his own fault. It isn’t up to us to 
worry. Preston’s the man for the job and I say, 
use him.” 

The coach nodded. “You’re probably right,” he 
said. 

Had Ted Morely known what was being said 
about him down in the village he would not have 
135 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


sped his pen so calmly over the paper, but, as it 
was, he was at peace with the world. He was writ- 
ing of the afternoon’s game at length and with, 
perhaps, unnecessary detail, for his father and 
mother knew woefully little about football. Hav- 
ing reached the end of the third page, he laid down 
his pen and read over his effort. 

“It was rotten luck for Jack, and everyone’s aw- 
fully sorry for him. They say he’s quite out of the 
Fairfield game. Isn’t that the limit? I haven’t 
seen him since they lugged him off the field, but 
I guess he’s beastly cut up about it. I took his place 
after he was hurt and played all of the fourth quar- 
ter. You know I’ve been fighting Preston all Fall, 
and now it looks like I’d won. Anyway, if Jack 
doesn’t play Saturday I’m bound to get in sooner 
or later, for Fairfield plays a stiff game and not 
many fellows last through. To-day we were 17 
to their 7 when I went in and Thornton ran in a lot 
of subs and we only tried to hold the other fellow 
from scoring any more. You needn’t worry about 
my shoulder because it’s just as good as it ever was. 
I wouldn’t have said anything about it if it had been 
serious ” 

He scored that out heavily and wrote above it. 

136 


THE QUITTER 

“It was only a wrench and nothing to bother about. 
I’ve been in mean luck this Fall about getting 
bunged up. You remember I had tonsilitis when 
we played Camden High and then there was the 
time I sort of fainted at practice one day, but that 
was only something I’d eaten, the doctor said, and 
then hurting that old shoulder took me out of the 
Fielding game. I’ll bet you that if they let me play 
Saturday there won’t be anything the matter with 
me, or if there is no one will know it! We want 
to win this year pretty bad and the school’s made 
up its mind to do it, too. I wish you could see 
some of the meetings we’ve been having. Talk 
about enthusiasm, gee, no one’s got anything on 
us. Well, I’ll write again after the game and you’ll 
know then how it comes out. If you want to know 
before that you will find it in the Reading paper, 
I guess. Now I must stop and go to bed. I’ve 
written a pretty long letter for me. Lots of love 
to you both.” 

He signed it “Your aff. son, Ted,” folded it 
away into the envelope, wrote the address and 
leaned the letter against the drop-light so that he 
would see it and remember to borrow a stamp from 
his room-mate and post it the next morning. Then, 
137 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

with a comfortable yawn, he arose and removed his 
jacket. In doing so he winced slightly, frowned 
and rubbed his left shoulder a moment before he 
began to wind the old-fashioned silver watch that 
had been his father’s and had descended to him on 
his sixteenth birthday, nearly a year ago. When 
his room-mate came in Ted was fast asleep and 
dreaming brave dreams. 

Toward Jack Groom, Ted entertained an admira- 
tion that was closely akin to hero worship. Jack 
was not quite two years older, but to Ted he seemed 
more than that, and with liking went a respectful 
awe that to-day, the Sunday following the next to 
the last game of the Staunton schedule, kept Ted 
from doing what he really wanted to do, which was 
cross the yard to Fenton Hall and call on the cap- 
tain. He wanted to let Jack know that he was 
horribly sorry about the accident and very sym- 
pathetic, but he was very much afraid of being 
thought presumptuous: only to himself Ted called 
it “fresh.” Ultimately he did go, but it was because 
Milton, Jack’s room-mate, hailed him after dinner 
with: “O Morely! Jack wants to see you. He’s 
over in the room. Run over now, will you?” 

Jack was propped up on the window-seat when 
138 


THE QUITTER 

Ted entered, his offending foot pillowed before him. 
Ted’s condolences stumblingly uttered, Jack came to 
the reason for the summons. “I can’t play Satur- 
day, Ted,” he announced, “and so I’ve dropped out 
of it entirely. Logan’s taken my place. I haven’t 
any more say about things. I wanted you to 
know that because it looks as if Preston would 
have the call over you. I think Thornton will start 
him Saturday. I’m sorry, Ted. I think you could 
play as good a game as Preston, maybe better, but 
Thornton thinks you’re a bit light. Of course, 
you’ll get in before the game’s over. You can’t 
help it, I guess. And, in any case, Thornton’ll see 
that you get your letter. I just wanted you to un- 
derstand that it isn’t my doing, Ted.” 

“Of course,” muttered the younger boy vaguely. 

“That’s all right, Jack. I — Preston ” He 

paused and swallowed. “I guess he’s better than 
I am, Jack.” 

“Piffle! Next year you’ll put it all over him. 
Don’t mind about Saturday, old man. You’ve got 
another year yet.” 

Which, reflected Ted, retracing his steps under 
the leafless maples, was true but not very consol- 
ing at the moment. He wished he had not written 
139 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

home with so much assurance. Still, if anything 
happened to Preston early in the game — not that he 
wished Preston ill-luck, of course. That would be 
pretty low-down. But accidents did happen ! How- 
ever, he put that line of conjecture out of his mind 
presently and strove to find comfort in the patriotic 
reflection that if Preston was preferred by the coach 
it was with good reason and meant that Staunton’s 
chances of winning would be bettered. And, after 
all, what everyone wanted, Ted amongst them, was 
a victory over Fairfield. By Monday afternoon he 
had learned to accept the disappointment with a fair 
degree of philosophy. 

The coach’s intentions were not apparent during 
practice, either that day or on any other of the 
remaining work days. Ted and Preston were used 
alternately at right half and no favoritism was dis- 
cernible. Preston, thought Ted, was worried and 
nervous. The fight for supremacy was telling on 
him and Tuesday afternoon he called down the 
coaches’ condemnation by twice “gumming up” 
plays. Ted knew that he was thinking too hard 
about Saturday’s contest to do justice to himself. 
As for Ted, he had seldom played the position bet- 
ter. Certain that the struggle was over, the con- 


140 


THE QUITTER 

sequent relief allowed him to put all his mind on 
his game, with the result that he went at it in a 
hammer-and-tongs style that was almost spectacu- 
lar. He managed to forget very completely that 
Saturday would find him on the bench instead of 
on the field, and got a lot of joy and satisfaction 
from the moment. But after practice on Tuesday 
he got to thinking about Preston, and when Fate 
arranged a meeting on the gymnasium steps he 
yielded to an impulse. He and Preston were always 
extremely polite to each other, formally friendly, 
as became antagonists who thoroughly respected 
each other. 

“I say, Preston/' began Ted, “I — there's some- 
thing you ought to know. I heard it by — by acci- 
dent, but I know it's straight.” Preston looked 
politely curious. “Thornton's decided on you to 
start the game,” blurted Ted. “I thought you'd like 
to know it. Now you won't have to— -to worry, you 
see.” 

“Why, thanks, Morely, but — you're not stringing 
me, are you ? Where did you hear it ?” 

“I can't tell you that, but it's — official.” 

“Oh ! Well, but — it's a bit tough on you, Morely. 
Maybe you're wrong. You'd better wait and see.” 

141 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“I don't need to.” Ted smiled. “I know. I’m 
telling you so you can — can buckle down to busi- 
ness, Preston. You see, I know what it is to have 
the other fellow on your mind all the time! One 
of us had to lose out, Preston, and it happens to be 
me. Thornton thinks I'm too light. I dare say he's 
right. Anyway, he’s the doctor, and as long as we 
beat Fairfield I don't mind. Much,” he added as a 
sop to Truth. 

“Well, it's mighty decent of you,” said Preston 
warmly. “You've certainly given me a dandy scrap, 
and I don't mind telling you that you've had me 
worried pretty often. I hope you get your letter.” 

“Thanks. Maybe I will. So long.” 

The last practice was on Wednesday and was 
largely signal work, although the kickers had a 
fairly stiff session later. On Thursday the school 
marched over to the field and cheered and sang and 
the first team substitutes went through a twenty- 
minute contest with the second eleven. Ted didn't 
see it, for he was sent back to the gymnasium with 
the first squad, but he could hear the onlookers 
cheering the disbanding second when the scrimmage 
was over. And a few minutes later, while he was 
tying his shoe-laces, the marching, enthusiastic 
142 


THE QUITTER 

horde grouped in front of the gymnasium entrance 
and cheered the players individually, and the coaches 
and the trainer and everyone else. Ted listened 
rather anxiously for his own name. It came pres- 
ently. He was somehow very glad of that. He 
would have felt horribly disappointed had they left 
him out. 

Fairfield descended on the scene in force Satur- 
day noon and the Campus and the village and the 
road between were gay with the flaunting blue of 
the enemy. The day was an Indian summer day, 
still, warm and hazy in the distances. Ted trotted 
with the rest to the field at a quarter to two and 
went through the warming up stunts. Then he 
donned a blanket and watched while the rival cap- 
tains met in mid-field and a coin spun glittering 
in the sunlight. Fairfield had won the toss and had 
elected to give the ball to Staunton, thus upsetting 
Coach Thornton’s prophecy. 

“All right now,” announced the latter. He re- 
ferred to the little red book he carried in a vest 
pocket. “Aikens, Breadwell, Boyd, Morris, Walsh, 
Denton, Conley, Logan, Moore, Preston and Farns- 
worth. On the run, fellows !” 

Presently a whistle piped, the new brown pigskin 
143 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

arose high against the blue sky and the final test 
of the long season's work was begun. The cheering 
had stilled on both sides of the field and some two 
thousand pairs of eyes followed the long flight of 
the ball. Then a Fairfield half-back had it and 
was dodging back up the gridiron. Breadwell al- 
most got him, but he slipped past Then Larry 
Logan wrapped two sturdy arms about the runner's 
legs and brought him crashing to the yellowed 
turf. Fairfield came hard then and Ted watched 
anxiously as the Staunton line bent and buckled 
against the heavy assault. But the line didn’t break 
much and presently the ball was in air again. Then 
came the first trial of the Staunton wide-open at- 
tack, and a mighty shout arose as Moore burst 
through outside right guard and reeled past two 
white lines. Again Moore got through, and then 
the Fairfield defense solved the play and shifted to 
meet it, and Farnsworth, faking a kick and then 
plunging at the Fairfield left, was spilled behind his 
line. A forward pass failed and again the ball flew 
through the air, propelled by Farnsworth's boot, 
and the teams raced down to the Blue's thirty-yard 
line. That quarter ended without anything ap- 
proaching a score, the honors even. But Thom- 
144 


THE QUITTER 

ton’s plan to “get the jump” on the enemy and score 
in the first few minutes of play had failed. 

The second period was a repetition of the first, 
save that Fairfield had the ball once on Staunton’s 
twenty-two yards on a fourth down and missed a 
goal from the field by a bare half-foot margin. Ted 
trotted back to the gymnasium with the others and 
sat around in an atmosphere of steam and liniment 
and excitement and listened to the babel of voices. 
Jack was in uniform but had not joined the players 
for a moment, and it was Larry Logan who fumed 
and implored and advised. Coach Thornton looked 
confident and had little to say until just before half- 
time was up. Then he made a quietly forceful ap- 
peal and, at the end, called for a cheer. Thirty-two 
voices answered thunderously. 

Fairfield scored two minutes after the third 
period started. The kick-off was fumbled by 
Logan, and, although he fell on it, at his eighteen 
yards, Fairfield blocked Farnsworth’s punt and an 
end broke through and captured the trickling pig- 
skin a foot behind the goal line. Fairfield brought 
the ball out in triumph, and it was then that Ted 
saw that one brown-legged player was stretched on 
the turf. “Tink” was diving toward him with slop- 


145 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

ping bucket. Ted’s eyes sped from player to player 
of his side. Only Preston was missing along the 
goal line! Something pushed his heart into his 
throat, turned it over once and let it slip slowly 
back again. He watched “Tink’s” sponge in fasci- 
nation. Then they were lifting Preston to his feet. 
For an instant it seemed that he was as good as 
ever, but suddenly his head fell over sideways. 
They were carrying him off now, bringing him to 
the bench. Someone amongst the subs leaped for- 
ward with a blanket. The stand behind was cheer- 
ing bravely for “Preston! Preston! Preston!” 
Thornton met the slowly-approaching group at the 
side line, looked, listened to a word from Tinker 
and whirled on his heel. 

“Morely! Get in there! Hurry up!” he called. 

Ted squirmed from his sweater and raced. Pant- 
ing, he slipped between Breadwell and Moore under 
the cross-bar and waited. A hand waved down- 
ward, the ball flew toward them, there was a mo- 
ment of suspense and a roar of relief arose from 
the Staunton stand. Fairfield had failed at the goal. 
Six points to nothing was the score, and virtually 
half the game remained to be played. 

Larry Logan shot a dubious look at Ted as the 
146 


THE QUITTER 

latter fell into place beside Moore when Fairfield 
had the ball again on her own thirty- four yards. 
But he managed a cheerful: “All right, Ted! Let’s 
see what you can do ! Hard, now !” 

But it was Fairfield’s policy to slow up now, and 
she halted in her signals and wasted all the time she 
could without risking a penalty. Staunton held 
gamely and then spoiled a forward pass and took 
the ball on downs. The wide-open attack was still 
working, for Fairfield’s men were a bit heavier and 
a bit slower and Logan was getting a lot of jump 
into his plays. Ted got his chance and crashed 
through for a scant three yards, got it again and 
was downed almost in his tracks by an unguarded 
end. Then Moore slipped around right tackle and 
ran twelve yards before he was forced over the side 
line. Staunton got to the enemy’s twenty-three 
before she was held, and then Farnsworth tried a 
place kick and missed the goal by five yards. 

And so it went, Fairfield sparring for time, 
Staunton forcing the playing, smashing desperately, 
running hard, aching to score. Changes were made. 
Morris went out at center and young Joyce took his 
place. Greenough came in for Bread well. With 
three minutes of the quarter left the ball was Staun- 
147 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


ton's in mid-field. Loring had wasted a down on 
a weird trick play that had lost four yards and now 
Farnsworth was called on. It was the old fake 
kick and wide run, but it worked, just as it so 
often does, and the big full-back galloped over three 
white streaks before they stopped him. Then, with 
the line-up close to the side of the field, Logan 
called on Ted. Moore crossed over in front of him, 
Farnsworth ran with him. Larry hid the ball a 
moment and then, as Ted rushed past, thumped it 
against his stomach. The Fairfield line was wide 
open in the middle and Ted went through like a 
shot. After that he had to spin and feint and 
dodge, but he kept going forward, kept wresting 
himself from clutching hands, kept passing the lines 
underfoot. The goal came closer and closer and 
for a wonderful moment he thought he was going 
to make it. But the Fairfield quarter spoiled that. 
He refused to believe in Ted's move toward the 
side line and got him firmly about the knees and 
wouldn't be kicked loose. And then, when Ted 
toppled to earth, clutching the ball frenziedly, a pur- 
suing end crashed down upon him and a million 
stars blazed before Ted’s astonished eyes and he 
fainted. 


148 


THE QUITTER 

When he came around, barely a half-minute later, 
they were pumping his arms and he had to gasp 
with the pain of it. Then came Tinker and the 
water pail and the big, dripping, smelly sponge, and 
Tinker’s anxious: “Where ’d they get you, boy?” 

Ted did a lot of thinking in something under a 
second. Too often already this season had he had 
to be led off the field. He dared “Tink’s” searching 
eyes and gasped: “Nowhere . . . Tink. I’m . . . 
all right!” 

“You’re not! Don’t be telling lies.” Tinker’s 
crafty fingers went exploring. Up one leg, down 
another, over the boy’s chest — Ted never flinched. 
He smiled railingly. 

“Let me up, you ninny,” he expostulated. “I’m 
all right. That fellow knocked the breath out of 
me, that’s all.” 

Tinker doubted and looked it. But he dropped 
the sponge back into the pail and stood up. “Come 
on, then,” he commanded. “Let’s see.” 

Ted raised himself with his right hand and 
sprang nimbly enough to his feet, laughing. Tinker 
grunted, shot a suspicious look, saw no evidences 
of injury and swooped down on his pail. “All 
right !” he said. “Go to it !” 

149 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

It was Moore who gained the next two yards 
and Moore who lost them again. Farnsworth 
bucked through past guard for four. It was mad- 
dening to be on the eleven yards with only one 
down left and six to go. Larry hesitated and the 
enemy jeered. A forward pass was all that would 
answer, and Staunton’s forwards had signally failed 
all the afternoon. But what must be must be and 
Larry gave the signals. It was Farnsworth who 
remonstrated. Larry listened to his whispers and 
looked doubtful and finally shook his head. But 
shaking his head was only camouflage, for the sig- 
nals were changed. Ted’s heart leaped as he heard 
them. Then the silence of the portentous instant 
before the impact, and the signals repeated, and 
Ted taking the ball on a longish pass from Joyce 
and springing away to the left, with Moore inter- 
fering. Then came the frenzied cry of “In! In!” 
and, sure enough, as Moore went down, a hole 
opened, and Ted, pivoting, turned toward the goal 
line. ^It was only a few yards distant, but the Blue’s 
backs were flocking to its defense and Ted was 
already in the midst of them. Arms settled at his 
waist, but he tore away. Someone crashed into him 
from behind and he was flung forward, his feet 
150 


THE QUITTER 

stumbling behind him. They got him then. A hand 
brushed past his face and thumped down on his left 
shoulder and Ted gasped and doubled up and went 
down, vainly, as it seemed, trying to push the pig- 
skin forward as the trampled turf leaped up to meet 
him. And as he fell he found himself saying to 
himself in a darkness lurid with whirling stars and 
meteors: “I won’t faint! I won’t faint!” 

He didn’t, but he lay very still when they pulled 
the foe from him and he had to be fairly lifted to 
his feet. And when he was on them he could only 
lean against Farnsworth and whisper gaspingly: 
“Don’t let go of me, please! Just a minute! Just 
a minute!” So Farnsworth, grinning happily, for 
the ball was over the line by three inches, held him 
up and no one paid much attention to the fact. 
Presently things stopped whirling madly around in 
Ted’s world and he groped his way back to the 
gridiron and dazedly watched while Farnsworth, 
after much cogitation amidst a great silence, lifted 
the pigskin straight over the cross-bar ! 

The quarter ended a moment later and the teams 
changed places. Staunton fought for time now, 
as Fairfield had done before, but went to no undue 
lengths to secure it. She was a point to the good 
151 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


and would have been satisfied had the game ended 
then and there, but she had also learned the joy 
of battle and was willing to fight on. Fairfield came 
back with a desperation that for the first few 
minutes lifted the home team from her feet. But 
she rallied on her thirty and took the ball away 
by a carefully measured two inches and started 
back again. She could not afford to risk anything 
now and so it was a case of hit the line and hold 
the ball. And she did hit it! Moore had to give 
up, but the eager substitute who took his place made 
good. Farnsworth still pegged away, as mighty as 
ever, although when play stopped for a moment he 
could hardly stand up and Tinker was watching 
him frowningly from the side of the field. Ted 
had more chances and played them through, gain- 
ing more often than not. But he, too, was almost 
gone it seemed, and Larry was considerate for what 
he had already done. 

The shadows lengthened and the game drew to 
its end. Fairfield was still cheering on the stands, 
still hopeful on the field. A misjudged punt 
brought a groan of dismay from the Staunton ad- 
herents and gave the enemy her opportunity to 
pull the game from the fire. It was Stirling, the 
152 



SOMEWHERE IN THAT MELEE WAS THE RUNNER WITH THE 

PRECIOUS BALL 







THE QUITTER 

substitute left half, who erred, and of a sudden 
the enemy was pounding at the Staunton gate. 
From the twenty-six yards to the fifteen she fought 
her way in the four downs. There, unwisely, per- 
haps, scorning a field goal, she raced against the 
clicking seconds of the timekeeper's watch and 
plunged on toward a touchdown. Two yards — 
three — one — and there were but four to go, with 
Staunton digging her cleats into the torn turf of the 
last defense. 

The enemy staged a try-at-goal, but Staunton 
refused to believe in it, and, as it was proved, 
rightly. For the ball went back to a half instead 
of the kicker and he sped off toward the left and 
the line broke and followed him. His run started 
near the twenty yards and he ran in to the fifteen 
before he began to circle. By that time the inter- 
ference was solid about him and when he turned 
in it seemed that sheer weight of numbers would 
carry the ball over. The Staunton defenders went 
down battling gamely, the rush slowed but kept 
moving. Somewhere in that melee was the runner 
with the precious ball hugged tightly to his body. 
They were pushing past the ten-yard line now. 
Cries of exhortation, of despair and of triumph 
1 58 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

arose above the panting and gasping and the thud 
of bodies. To the eight yards — to the seven J 

A brown-legged player picked himself from the 
turf with distorted face and plunged at the strug- 
gling mass. Somehow he penetrated it and was 
swallowed from sight. And then, wonder of 
wonders, the forward movement stopped, the mas9 
swayed, gave before the desperate force of the 
defenders and moved back. From somewhere a 
faint gasp of “Down!” was heard. But already the 
whistle had blown. 

The ball was found just past the six yards. 
Above it lay a grim-faced Fairfield half-back and 
above him, one arm, the right, wrapped tenaciously 
about his knees, lay Ted. And, although they had 
to fairly pry that arm and its clutching fingers loose, 
Ted knew nothing about it, for he had fainted 
again ! 

The home team rushed once, kicked out of 
danger and the game was over and the crowds 
overflowed the field, Staunton cheering ecstatically 
and wildly as she sought to capture her players. 
But Ted, over by the bench, knew very little of 
that. He felt Tinker's tenderly cruel fingers ex- 
ploring his left shoulder and he groaned. He didn't 
154 


THE QUITTER 

mean to, but he couldn’t help it. And he heard 
Thornton ask solicitously: “Break, Tink?” 

“Sure. Shoulder blade. A nice clean break, too. 
He did it when they tackled him down near their 
goal that time. He wouldn’t let on and he had 
me fooled till I noticed a few minutes ago that he 
wasn’t using his left arm much!” 

“Hm!” said the coach. 

“And that ain’t all of it either,” continued the 
trainer, his fingers still at work. “It feels to me 
like he’d had trouble there before. There’s a sort 
of lump — All right, lad, I won’t hurt you any more. 
You’re a plucky little divil! I’ll say that for you!” 

And last of all Ted heard Jack Groom’s voice 
from a great distance: “And that’s the fellow you 
said was a quitter!” 

Then, following* that beastly habit of his, Ted 
fainted again! 



“PUFF” 

T OM BURRILL drew up in the shade at the 
side of the road, jumped from the car with 
a wrench in his hand and, lifting the hood, 
began to inspect the spark plugs. 

He was a healthy, well-built, intelligent-looking 
boy of seventeen, with a lean, sunburned face. 
Clear gray eyes, a straight nose, a mouth that 
showed a sense of humor and a chin that indicated 
determination were his most noticeable features. 
He was tall for his years and had the look of one 
who spends much time out of doors. 

The automobile deserves quite as full a descrip- 
tion as its owner. It was small, low hung and 
light in weight — more a cycle car than a full-grown 
runabout — and was painted a bright red, all except 
the wheels, which were painted black. Its name 
was “Puff.” There was no doubt about the name, 
for it was conspicuously painted in black on the 
gasoline tank behind the seat. 


156 


PUFF 


Tom's father had proposed calling the car “E 
Pluribus Unum,” since it was decidedly one out 
of many! Tom had built it himself; he had got 
the parts at secondhand — here, there and anywhere. 
The small, two-cylinder, twelve-horse-power engine 
that supplied the motive power Tom had picked 
up for a song at a repair shop in Kingston. The 
body he had built himself, and the engine hood 
he had had made at the local stamping works. You 
would never have suspected that under the two 
coats of brilliant red paint the hood was nothing 
more than a fair quality of zinc! 

The car was air-cooled and chain-driven, and 
when Tom drove it over rough roads it rattled like 
half a dozen dish pans. But for all that it could 
do its thirty miles an hour, and perhaps better were 
it permitted to! Tom had spent most of his spare 
time that spring in building the car ; but he had had 
a great deal of pleasure, to say nothing of his final 
triumph when he made his first trip through Kings- 
ton, to the confusion of the scoffers who had pre- 
dicted failure! 

But Puff had its troubles, just as larger and more 
expensive cars have theirs, and so far that summer 
much of its life had been spent in the stable, under- 
157 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
going repairs. If the truth were told, however, a 
T om got almost as much pleasure out of Puff in 
the stable as he did out of Puff on the road, for 
he was never happier than when he was tinkering 
with machinery. 

This morning he had overhauled the little car 
with more than ordinary care, for he was to make 
the run to Bristol and back, a matter of forty-eight 
miles all told. The trip was in the nature of a 
supreme test of Puff’s endurance. All had gone 
well until Kingston lay two miles behind. Then 
Puff had begun to skip and lose power, and Tom 
had at last been forced to investigate. 

The investigation, however, was. not very suc- 
cessful ; both spark plugs were bright and appeared 
to be firing perfectly. With a puzzled shake of his 
head, Tom replaced them and began to survey the 
wiring. It was at this moment that a sound up the 
road toward home drew his attention. He had 
barely time to raise his head and look before a huge 
touring car raced past him in a cloud of dust. 

Yet it did not travel so fast that Tom failed to 
identify the make. It was a Spalding of the latest 
model — a big, six-cylinder car painted battleship 
gray, with bright red wheels. In the big tonneau 
158 


“PUFF” 


sat a single passenger, a man in a light gray over- 
coat and a cloth cap. The chauffeur was in brown 
livery. All this Tom saw before the car was lost 
to sight round a bend in the road. It did not, he 
was sure, belong in Kingston, for there was only 
one six-cylinder automobile in the town, and that 
was a Wright. Probably the car belonged in 
Bristol, for the Spalding factory was in that city. 
It was doubtless returning from a trip to Kingston, 
he concluded. 

He started his engine again and climbed back 
to the seat. Puff started off well, and Tom was 
congratulating himself on having unwittingly re- 
paired the trouble, when again the engine began to 
miss fire. It seemed very puzzling. His errand 
made it necessary for him to reach Bristol before 
the bank closed at twelve, and so he did not dare 
to spend too much time on the road. As long as 
Puff made its twenty miles an hour — and it was 
doing that and more, as the small speedometer 
showed — he decided that he would keep on. After 
he had delivered the envelope that was in his pocket 
at the bank and thus done his father’s errand, he 
would look for the trouble. 

“If I can’t find it,” he said to himself with a 


159 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

smile, “maybe I’ll drop round to the Spalding fac- 
tory and exchange Puff for one of those 'six-six- 
ties’ ! Only,” he added half aloud as he swung 
round the turn, "they’ll have to give me something 
to boot!” 

The next instant he was staring ahead with in- 
terest. Beyond, drawn up at the side of the road, 
stood the big car. The chauffeur was leaning under 
the raised hood and the passenger was watching 
from the car. As Tom approached he slowed Puff 
down a little. He would have been less than human 
had he not experienced an instant of mild satisfac- 
tion. Puff had cost him something like eighty 
dollars, whereas the big Spalding, as Tom well 
knew, was priced at nearly four thousand dollars; 
and certainly, as far as the quality of "get there” 
was concerned, the big car was at that moment 
inferior to the little one. 

As Tom approached, he noticed that the man in 
the gray overcoat looked cross and irritated, and 
that the chauffeur was worried. It seemed rather 
ridiculous for him to offer assistance, he reflected, 
but, nevertheless, he stopped. "I don’t suppose I 
can be of any help, sir?” he inquired. 

The man in the car shook his head impatiently, 
160 


“PUFF” 


with only a glance toward him; but the chauffeur, 
casting a quick and wondering look over the small 
car and wiping his hands upon a bunch of waste, 
replied sarcastically, “Not unless you’ve got a spare 
cylinder.” 

“What!” cried the man in the car. “Cylinder 
gone ?” 

“Piston’s broken, sir. Thought maybe it was 
only the valve was stuck or something, but I guess 
it’s the piston, all right.” 

“But jumping cats !” snapped the man in the gray 
coat. “You can’t mend a broken piston rod!” 

“No sir.” 

“And she won’t run?” 

“No, sir, not to speak of. She’s pushing the 
charge back into the carburetor. We might limp 
along about ten miles an hour, Mr. Fletcher, but 
I shouldn’t like to say that we’d not spoil another 
cylinder.” 

“But I’ve got to get back by eleven! Can we 
get another car round here?” 

“There’s a garage at Kingston, sir. Maybe ” 

“How far back is it?” 

“A matter of three miles, I guess.” 

“About two and a half,” Tom corrected. 

161 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

The passenger looked at his watch and frowned 
impatiently. 

"I suppose it would take half an hour to get it,” 
he said. “It’s 10.18 now and my train leaves at 
11.04. There’s less than an hour, and Fve got to 
get that train to Chicago. Look here !” He swung 
round toward Tom. “Will that thing you’ve got 
there run?” 

“Yes, sir,” answered Tom a little coldly. He 
did not like to have Puff called a “thing”! 

“Will, eh?” snapped the man. “Well, there’s 
fifty dollars in it if you’ll get me to Bristol in 
time for the 11.04 express. Can you do it?” 

Tom shook his head. “No, sir. If it’s 10.18 
now, there’s only forty-six minutes and the distance 
is twenty-two miles. This car can do thirty on 
good roads, but ” 

“Tut! tut! tut! Any car that can do thirty can 
do thirty-five if you push it. I tell you I’ll give 
you fifty dollars if you get me there. Isn’t that 
enough ?” 

“Plenty, thanks,” replied Tom quietly. “But I’m 
not running very well to-day. Something wrong 
with my plugs, I guess; or maybe it’s the wiring. 
Anyway ” 

lfi2 


“PUFF” 


But Mr. Fletcher was already climbing out of 
his car. “Dennis!” he said sharply. “Bring some 
spare spark plugs!” 

He was across the road in a second. “Get your 
plugs out,” he ordered Tom, “and see if mine will 
fit. Get a move on, if you want to earn that fifty.” 

Tom hesitated for an instant. Then he said, ‘Til 
do the best I can, sir.” 

By the time the chauffeur had found the new 
plugs Tom had taken the old ones out. Fortunately, 
the new ones fitted and the chauffeur quickly 
screwed them in. As Tom connected the wires, Mr. 
Fletcher issued directions to the chauffeur. 

“Get my bag, Dennis. Put it between my feet 
here. You stay with the car and IT 1 send out and 
have you towed home. Put it in the shop and tell 
Morrison to give you something to use while it’s 
being fixed. Meet the 4.10 to-morrow afternoon. 
All right, son! Now let's see what you can do.” 
He pulled his watch out again. “You’ve got forty- 
four minutes!” 

Tom started the engine, sprang to the seat, threw 
in the clutch, changed to high speed and bounded 
gayly off. The seat was narrow and low, and 
163 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Mr. Fletcher, who was of ordinary height and 
stockily built, filled his half of it to overflowing. 

“Most uncomfortable seat I was ever in!” he 
exclaimed. “What make of a car is this, for good- 
ness’ sake?” 

“Burrill, two-twelve, Model A,” replied Tom 
gravely, clinging to the wheel as the car swung 
round the next bend in the road. 

“Never heard of it,” said the other. “Won’t it 
go any faster than this?” 

The hand on the speedometer was hovering back 
and forth round thirty. Tom drew the throttle 
down another notch and the hand went to thirty- 
three. The new spark plugs had evidently done the 
work, for there was never a skip now. Puff was 
running as smoothly as a Spalding Six! 

“That’s better!” grunted the passenger, holding 
on tight to keep from being jounced out. “If the 
thing sticks together we may make it. How much 
do they get for these things?” 

“It cost me about eighty dollars,” answered Tom, 
tooting his horn frantically as he saw a wagon 
ahead. 

“Oh, second-hand, eh?” 

“Most of it, sir. I made it myself.” 

164 


“PUFF” 


“Made it yourself!” There was both surprise 
and admiration in Mr. Fletcher's tone. “Well, 
you’re a mechanic, my boy. I’ll apologize for any 
disparaging remarks I may have made. Sorry if 
I hurt your feelings.” 

“That’s all right,” replied Tom, as he swung 
almost into the ditch to get round the wagon, the 
driver of which was fast asleep on the seat. “It isn’t 
much of a car, but it does pretty well. And I 
haven’t broken any pistons yet!” 

“Hum!” said Mr. Fletcher. “Well, send her 
along, son. If she’ll keep this up we may make it. 
By Jove, we’ve got to make it! I wouldn’t miss 
that appointment in Chicago for a thousand dol- 
lars! Let her out another notch. You’ve got a 
straight road.” 

But Tom shook his head. “I’d rather not. We 
can make it this way if nothing happens.” 

Mr. Fletcher grunted. The little car was going 
at its best speed; to Tom, who was clutching the 
wheel with strained muscles and intently watching 
the road ahead, it seemed to leap past the fences 
as if it were alive. 

“So you made this yourself?” Mr. Fletcher said 
165 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


presently. “Must have been something of a job. 
I've made a few myself, but ” 

There was a sharp crack! Mr. Fletcher’s side 
of the car suddenly sank, and he grabbed wildly 
at Tom in an effort to keep his balance. As Tom 
set the emergency brake, the car swerved and came 
to a stop. Tom leaped out and viewed the damage. 

“Spring’s busted,” he reported. “I always 
thought they were too light.” 

“Spring, eh? Well, she’ll run, won’t she?” 

“Yes, sir, but it’s going to be uncomfortable, 
because the body’s right down on the axle on your 
side.” 

“H’m, I guess a little more discomfort won’t 
matter ! Let’s get on, let’s get on !” 

They went on, with the speedometer wavering 
round thirty-three miles an hour. Twice Tom had 
to slow down: once when the road dipped and 
turned sharply under a railway bridge, and again 
when they passed through the little village of West 
Adams. At intervals Mr. Fletcher, carefully re- 
leasing his hold on the car, took out his watch and 
reported the time. 

“Ten thirty-eight,” he said, as they speeded up 
again beyond West Adams. “How much farther?” 




166 


PUFF” 


“About twelve miles. We’ll do it if ” 

“We’ve got to do it!” 

A few minutes later Mr. Fletcher sniffed the air. 
“She’s heating up, isn’t she? Got water in your 
radiator ?” 

“No, sir; she’s air-cooled.” . 

“Smells like it!” 

A long hill rose in front, and Tom pulled down 
his throttle another notch or two. Puff took the 
hill flying, and Mr. Fletcher grunted in unwilling 
admiration. 

“Lots of power! What’s that?” 

A dull pounding noise was coming from under 
the car. 

“Flat tire,” said Tom. “We’ll have to run on 
the rim.” 

“Ten forty-seven!” Mr. Fletcher announced. 
“Can we do it?” 

“If she’ll hold together! It’s only about six 
miles, I think.” 

“When you get this side of town, where the 
two roads branch at the powder factory, take the 
right. It’s a poor road, but it’s a mile shorter and 
goes straight to the station.” 

Bumpity-bump ! went the body against the axle! 

167 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Thumpity-thump! went the wheel with the flat tire. 
Honk! honk! went the horn. The little car tore 
along. Five minutes later the smoke pall above 
Bristol was in sight. The road grew rougher and 
wagons began to dispute the way. At the powder 
factory Tom swung to the right on a road that 
was rutted by heavy teaming. 

“Just fifty-seven !” shouted Mr. Fletcher above 
the noise. 

Tom nodded. Ahead of them the city, with its 
tall chimneys belching smoke, was now in plain 
sight. Puff jumped and careened, but kept its pace. 
Three miles more and seven minutes left ! 

Suddenly an exclamation of dismay from his 
companion sent Tom’s gaze traveling far up the 
road. A quarter of a mile ahead a drawbridge 
spanned a river, and approaching it from down- 
steam was a tugboat. Even as Tom looked little 
puffs of gray steam rose from the tug, and an in- 
stant later the whistle blasts from it reached him. 
She was signaling for the draw ; the tender already 
had begun to swing the gates. 

“That settles it!” groaned Mr. Fletcher. 

Tom calculated the distance, pulled down the 
throttle, and Puff sprang madly forward. 

168 



THE BRIDGE TENDER HAD HALF CLOSED THE SECOND GATE 







“PUFF” 


“Reach past me and blow the horn!” Tom 
gasped. 

Mr. Fletcher obeyed. Honk! honk! honk ! 
shrieked the little car. The bridge tender had 
closed one of the two gates on the farther side 
and was hurrying toward the other. Honk! honk ! 
honk! Then he heard, paused, looked from car to 
tugboat and, raising a hand, warned them back. 

But Tom never hesitated. On rushed the car. 
The bridge was only a hundred feet away now, 
and Mr. Fletcher shouting unintelligible words, was 
working the horn madly. The bridge tender had 
half closed the second gate, when he changed his 
mind and hastily swung it open. There was a roar 
of planks under flying wheels, a swerve, the sound 
of a rear hub glancing from the end of the closed 
gate, and they were over. Behind them a wrathful 
tender shook his fist in the air! 

“Three minutes past!” gasped Mr. Fletcher. 

But the station was in sight, beside the platform 
stood the long express. Still honking wildly, Puff 
dashed through the slow-moving traffic and pulled 
up with a jerk at the platform. Waving at the 
engineer, Mr. Fletcher tumbled out. 

“Bag!” he cried. 


169 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


Tom pushed it across with one foot. 

“Thanks! I’ll have to send — that fifty. What's 
— the name?" 

“Tom Burrill, sir, but I don’t want any money." 

“All abo-o-oard !" called the conductor. 

“Nonsense! Tom Burrill? Live in Kingston? 
You’ll hear from me — day or two! By!" 

Mr. Fletcher rushed away, and was half pushed 
up the steps of a parlor car as the train moved off. 
Ten minutes later, at the bank, Tom put a question 
to the man at the window: 

“Is there a Mr. Fletcher who lives here in Bristol, 
sir?" 

“Fletcher? Certainly. Mr. Henry L. Fletcher i 
lives here." 

“And — and what does he do, please?" 

“Do? Why, makes automobiles, of course! 
haven’t you ever heard of the Spalding car?" 

“Oh!" murmured Tom. 

“Made right here in Bristol. A fine car, my 
boy.” 

“Not bad," replied Tom carelessly as he turned 
away. “Weak in the cylinders, though." 

Four days later at breakfast Tom received a 
170 


“PUFF” 


letter in an envelope that bore the words, “Spalding 
Automobile Company, Bristol.” 

The inclosure was brief. He read: 


Dear Sir: We are instructed by the President, Mr. Henry 
L. Fletcher, to deliver to you or your order one of our 
Model 14 Runabouts, fully equipped. The car is here at 
your disposal. Kindly call or send for it at your early 
convenience. Awaiting your instructions, we remain, 
Respectfully yours, 

Spalding Automobile Company, 
per W. W. Morrison, Manager. 

“And what,” inquired Tom’s father a little later, 
“will you call this new automobile of yours? E 
Pluribus Fletcher?” 

Tom did not hesitate. “I guess,” said he loyally, 
“I’ll call it Puff the Second.” 


“PS Y CHOLOGY STUFF’ 


J OE TALMADGE came to Hollins from some 
fresh- water college out in Wisconsin. Any- 
way, they called it a college, but Joe had 
hard work getting into the upper middle class at 
Hollins, and Hollins is only a prep school, so it 
seems that his college, which was called Eureka or 
Excelsior or something like that, couldn’t have 
ranked with Yale or Princeton. His father had 
died the spring before. He had been in the lumber 
business in a place called Green Bay and had made 
a pile of money, I guess. They had opened an office 
or agency or something in Philadelphia a year or 
so before and when Mr. Talmadge died the other 
men in the company decided that Joe was to finish 
getting an education right away and take charge 
of the Philadelphia end of the business. It was 
Joe’s idea to finish up somewhere in the East, be- 
cause, as he said, folks back East were different 
and he’d ought to learn their ways. That’s how he 
172 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

came to duck his Excelsior place and come to 
Hollins. 

The first time I saw him was the evening of the 
day before the Fall term began. They’d made me 
proctor on the third floor of Hyde Hall and after 
supper that night I was unpacking in number forty- 
three when I heard a beast of a rumpus down the 
corridor and hiked out to see what was doing. It 
seemed that they’d put Joe in thirty-seven with a 
fellow named Prentice, who hails from Detroit. 
Prentice was all right except that his dad had made 
money too quickly. He had invented a patent brake 
lining or something for automobiles and everyone 
wanted it and he had made a pile of money in 
about six years and it had sort of gone to Tom 
Prentice’s head. He wasn’t a bad sort, Tom wasn’t, 
but he could be beastly offensive if he set out to. 
When I knocked at thirty-seven no one inside heard 
me because there was too much noise. So I just 
walked in. The study table was lying on its side 
and the gas drop light — we didn’t have electricity 
in Hyde then — was dangling a couple of inches 
from the floor at the end of its green tube. Tom 
Prentice was lying on his neck on one of the beds 
with his heels near the ceiling and Joe was stand- 
173 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

ing over him waiting for him to come back to earth. 
Joe didn’t look mad, but he looked mighty earnest. 

He was seventeen, but big for his years, wide- 
shouldered and powerful looking. He had a nice 
sort of face, with gray eyes and very dark hair 
and a good deal of sunburn. His hair needed trim- 
ming and some of it was dangling down over his 
forehead, making him look sort of desperate, and 
I wondered what would happen to me if I had to 
step in between them. But I didn’t. Joe stopped 
knocking Tom around for a minute and I explained 
that I was proctor and accountable for the peace 
and quiet of that floor. By that time Tom was 
sitting on the bed looking dazed and holding one 
hand to his jaw. I never did find out what had 
actually started the riot, but it was something that 
Tom had said about the sovereign State of Wis- 
consin, I think. I persuaded them to shake hands 
and forget it and Tom said he hadn’t meant what- 
ever it was just the way Joe had taken it, and when 
I went out Joe was fussing around Tom with arnica 
and wet towels. 

They got on all right together after that first 
show-down. Maybe Tom realized that he was no 

174 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

match for Joe. Tom wasn’t any frail lad, either. 
He weighed about a hundred and sixty and was 
eighteen years old and played left guard on the 
Eleven. It was Tom who induced Joe to go out 
for football. Joe had played a little out West, but 
had never taken it seriously, and didn’t show any 
enthusiasm for it now, only Tom kept at him, I 
guess. Anyway, I saw Joe working with the dubs 
a day or two after the term began. They had him 
going through the motions at center on the fourth 
or fifth scrub. I remember saying to Larry Keets, 
who was assistant manager that Fall, that “that guy 
Talmadge was built for the part, all right” Keets 
looked across and grinned. 

“Yeah, he’s built for it, maybe, but he handles 
the ball like it was a basket of eggs. Morgan” — 
Morgan was our coach — “was eying him yesterday, 
but he’s still where he is. Anyway, we’ve got cen- 
ters and guards and tackles to bum. It’s back field 
men we need, Zach, and a couple of good ends.” 

Which was all true. We’d lost seven out of the 
fifteen men who had played in the big game last 
Fall, and all but two were backs. Of the two, one 
was an end and the other was a guard. Coach 
Morgan and Truitt, our right tackle and captain, 


175 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


were raking the whole school for halfback material 
and not having much success in finding any. 

I ought to say here that Hollins had been having 
a run of perfectly rotten luck for four years. En- 
wright Academy was our big rival and Enwright 
had beaten us three times and played us to a score- 
less tie once in those four years. It had got so that 
a win over the blue and gold was something myth- 
ical, like the dodo or the dope about Hercules and 
the Nemean lion. No one in school when I was 
there had ever seen Hollins beat Enwright at foot- 
ball and we’d got so that we’d stopped hoping, or 
at least expecting, anything like that to happen. 
And along about the middle of October, by which 
time we had been licked three times, we had re- 
signed ourselves to the regular programme: mass 
meetings, secret practice, plenty of cheering, bluffing 
to the last minute and — defeat. 

We played a ten game schedule that year. The 
week before the Enwright game we had Gloversville 
coming back for a return engagement, Gloversville 
being calculated to give us good practice and no 
risk of injuries to our players. 

About the last week in October I got a surprise. 
I went down to the field one Thursday afternoon 
176 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 


with a couple of the fellows to watch practice. Mor- 
gan had started secret sessions, but to-day they had 
opened the gates. There had been several cuts in 
the squad by that time and only the first and sec- 
ond teams were left; perhaps thirty-four or five 
fellows in all. They were scrimmaging when we 
got there and the second was trying to get over the 
first’s goal line from the fifteen yards. They made 
two tries, wide end runs both of them, and didn’t 
gain an inch, but after each play I noticed that one 
of the second team men had to trot back about 
twenty yards to get into position again. Whoever 
he was, he had just romped through the first’s line 
and was behind the goal posts each time. Then, 
when we had got over opposite the play, I saw that 
it was Joe Talmadge. On the next down the sec- 
ond’s quarter fumbled and after the ball had rolled 
around awhile the second team’s full-back fell on 
it. It seemed to me that almost any one of the 
first team forwards should have broken through and 
got that, pigskin, but they didn’t, and it dawned on 
me that the reason they didn’t was just because 
the second’s center had been too stiff for them. 
After the second had tried a place kick and failed, 
the ball went back to mid-field, and during the next 


177 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


seven or eight minutes of that scrimmage I watched 
Joe closely. And what I saw made me wonder if 
Coach Morgan had lost his eyesight, for Joe simply 
played Pride to a standstill. Not once did the first 
make a gain anywhere near the middle of the sec- 
ond team’s line, and when the second finally got 
the pigskin again, after Stringer had made a mess 
of a run around left end, it was always Joe who 
led the way through. He would just spin Pride 
around like a top, or push him back like he was a 
straw man, and romp past him. But why Morgan 
didn’t see it was more than I could figure out, and 
that evening, after commons, I tackled Captain 
Truitt. Tru and I were pretty good friends, for I 
had got him into Arcanium the year before. 

“Talmadge?” he said thoughtfully. “Yes, I 
know, Zach. He’s been putting up a corking game 
on the second right along for two weeks, but when 
we try him on the first he falls down flat. We’ve 
had him over twice. The first time we thought it 
was stage fright, but he was just as bad the next. 
Sometimes fellows are like that. They’ll work like 
Trojans for the scrubs and be no earthly good on 
the first. Coach hauled him over the coals last week 
about it and all Talmadge could say was that 'he 
178 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 


didn’t know/ Too bad, for he’d come mighty near 
to making trouble for Enwright.” 

“It doesn’t sound like sense to me,” I said. “If 
he can play like a whirlwind on one team why can’t 
he do it on another.” 

“Search me,” said Tru, “but some fellows are like 
that. Coach talks of trying him again Saturday 
against Wooster High. I don’t know if he will, 
though, for we can’t afford to take any chances. 
I’d like mighty well,” he added bitterly, “to win 
one more game this season.” 

“One!” said I. “Oh, run away, Tru! The 
trouble with you chaps is that you’ve lost faith in 
yourselves. You’re so used to getting the short end 
of it that you can’t believe in winning. Buck up!” 

“That’s a fact, old man! I believe you’re dead 
right. We’re so used to being rotten that we don’t 
know how to be anything else. What we need is 
one of these psychology sharks to come around and 
sort of hypnotize us into a new state of mind. 
Short of that, Zach, we’ll do the same old stunt 
again.” 

“Psychology, your grandmother! Use your 
beans! Why shouldn’t we win from Enwright? 

What’s to prevent? Why ” 

179 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Nothing, except that they’ve got the best team 
they’ve had in three years and we’ve got a worse 
one than we had last year. And last year they beat 
us by seventeen ” 

“Sure! I know! You needn’t go into the sick- 
ening details. But it’s idiotic to think that you’re 
bound to be licked, Tru. I’m not much on the 
psychology stuff, but I do think that there’s a whole 
lot in believing that you’re going to get what you 
want. Why not try it?” 

“Oh, I do. That is, I try to. I don’t talk this 
way to the fellows, Zach. You’re different. You 
don’t talk. And it’s a relief to be gloomy once in 
awhile. On the field I have to be ‘Little Sunshine’ 
until my mouth aches from grinning.” 

“Well, for the love of lemons don’t quit yet, 
Tru. Keep a stiff upper lip and maybe you’ll pull 
off a miracle.” 

Whether Joe Talmadge got onto the first or not 
was no affair of mine, but I sort of liked the chap, 
what little I’d seen of him, and, besides, it looked 
to me as if the team ought to go up against En- 
wright with the best players to be found. Anyway, 
I munched it over going across the yard, and when 
I got to the third floor of Hyde I stopped at thirty- 
180 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 


seven and knocked. Someone said “Come in,” and 
I opened the door. Joe was alone. ^Tom, he said, 
hadn’t come back from supper, and would I wait? 
I had meant to ask Tom if there wasn’t some way 
of getting Joe to put up a fight when they got him 
on the first, thinking that maybe he could talk it 
over with his roommate and find out what the 
trouble was. I certainly hadn’t intended talking to 
Joe himself about it, but that’s just what I found 
myself doing a few minutes later. Joe was a nice 
sort and he kind of made you say what you had 
on your mind. Maybe he had what they call mag- 
netism. Anyway, there I was pretty soon talking 
it over with him, he lolling back on the window 
seat, hugging his long legs and looking thoughtful. 

“You’ve got me, Morris,” he said finally. 
“They’re dead right about it, too. Some way, when 
they stick me in there on the first I sort o’ lose 
my pep. I don’t know why. Say, do you believe 
in — in ” 

He stopped and I said “Fairies?” 

“No, but atmosphere.” 

“Sure, Talmadge! I’m a firm believer in it,” 
said I earnestly, not knowing what he was driv- 
ing at. 


181 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Honest?” He seemed pleased and I was glad 
I’d said the right thing. “Well, sometimes I think 
it’s atmosphere that does it.” 

“Does what?” I asked, puzzled. 

“Why, makes me play so dog-gone punk on the 
first,” he explained gravely. “I’ll tell you, Morris,” 
he dropped his knees and thrust his big hands into 
his trousers pockets, “when I’m playing on the sec- 
ond I — I kind of feel like I was doing something 
that wanted to be done. I feel like the fellows 
around me wanted to win the scrimmage. But 
when they put me over in the other line I don’t get 
that — that feeling at all. I suppose that sounds 
like silly stuff to you, but ” 

“Hold on!” I said. “It doesn’t, Talmadge. I be- 
lieve you’ve found the answer. I believe you’ve 
put your thumb right on the — the tack ! That’s just 
what you would feel on the first, I’ll bet. Those 
chumps have been licked so often they don’t believe 
in themselves any more.” 

“That it? Well, that’s the way I feel, and I don’t 
seem to be able to get rid of it. I guess that coach 
thinks I’m an awful dub, but I can’t help it. I try 
hard enough, but the — whatdoyoucallit — incentive 

182 ' v 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

isn’t there. Or something. Atmosphere I’ve called 
it. Or feeling. Something.” 

We talked it over quite a bit. I thought he was 
right about the trouble, and I still think so. I got 
him finally to promise to make a good hard bid 
the next time. “Just try your best to forget the 
atmosphere,” said I. “Play your own game, Tal- 
madge. Make up your mind that, no matter 
whether the rest of the team want to win or get 
licked, you yourself are dead set on winning. Will 
you do it?” 

“Sure ! Much obliged. It’s good of you to — to 
bother.” He insisted on shaking hands. “If he 
lets me in Saturday I’ll do the best I can. Maybe 
it won’t be much, though. After all, I don’t know 
an awful lot about football. Just the rudiments. 
But I’ll see if I can’t — ” he hesitated, smiled and 
went on — “can’t create my own atmosphere.” 

I had planned to go home Saturday after dinner, 
but I stayed around and saw the game and took 
the five-twelve instead. I wish I hadn’t, for we 
got most unmercifully beaten by Wooster. To be 
sure, Wooster had every bit of luck there was, but 
even taking that into consideration our fellows 
played a pretty punk game. The big disappoint- 
183 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


ment to me was Joe. Morgan put him in at the 
start and let him finish the quarter, but he didn’t 
put up any sort of a fight. And I could see that 
he was trying, too. Wooster broke up our center 
time and again, and the only reason Morgan let 
Joe stay in was because the play was all in mid- 
field and I guess he kept on hoping that Joe would 
find himself. I came across him between the halves. 
He had dressed and was looking on. from the side 
line. When he saw me he smiled wryly and shook 
his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But it wasn’t any use, 
Morris. I’m kiboshed, I guess. They smeared me 
for fair, didn’t they?” 

I nodded. “But what was the trouble?” I asked. 

“I don’t know. The same, I guess. I tried to 
make believe that the whole thing depended on me 
and that I was the main squeeze, but it didn’t seem 
to work. Say, do the rest of those fellows really 
want to win, or — or what?” 

“Why, yes, they do, of course,” said I. “But — 
maybe they don’t know it !” 

Joe sighed. “Something’s wrong with them. I 
had the impression all the time that I was taking 
a lot of trouble for nothing, that no one cared what 
184 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF 


happened, and it balled me all up. I’m going to 
quit football, I guess. Anyhow, I ain’t got time 
for it.” 

I said something polite and beat it back to the 
stand. It didn’t seem to me to make much differ- 
ence whether he quit or not. 

Things ambled along toward the second Glovers- 
ville game. I noticed that Joe was still playing on 
the second, and gathered from something Tom said 
that he had wanted to quit and had been overruled 
by the coaches. 

We licked Gloversville thirteen to six, in a glori- 
fied practice game in which every substitute had a 
chance to show his gait. And after that we settled 
down for the final humiliation of being whipped to 
a froth by Enwright the following Saturday. 
Honestly, you couldn’t find ten fellows in school 
who would say that Hollins was going to win, and 
you couldn’t have found one who believed it! I 
didn’t. I'll say that frankly. 

Three of the second team were taken over to the 
first, and Joe was one of them. Maybe Morgan 
thought he might need a third center if Enwright 
played the sort of game she was expected to. Any- 
185 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


way, Joe was huddled up on the bench with the 
rest of the subs when the game started. 

It was a cloudy, still November day, with a touch 
of frost in the air, and there was no choice between 
goals. We won the toss and gave the ball to En- 
wright. The visitors were a husky lot, all right. 
They’d won six out of nine games and hadn’t any 
doubt about winning another to-day. They were a 
rangy, powerful bunch, and looked fast and keen. 
As to weight they had it over us by a few pounds 
in the average, but not enough to worry about. We 
weren’t worrying about anything, for that matter* 
We had made up our minds to fight hard and die 
fighting. Only, we expected to die. And anybody 
knows that that’s no way to go into a football 
game. We believed that Fate had everything all 
doped out for us, so what was the use of worry- 
ing? I heard afterwards that Morgan fairly in- 
sulted them in the dressing room before the game, 
but he didn’t get any reaction. They refused to be 
insulted. They were dogged, but there wasn’t 
enough vanity in the whole bunch to fit out a Pom- 
eranian lap dog. Then they went out and trotted 
onto the gridiron, while we waved and cheered them 
nobly, prepared to die like heroes. 

186 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

They had an awful surprise in the first ten min- 
utes of that period. Enwright absolutely refused 
to play football. Whether she was a bit stale or 
what the trouble was I don’t know, but she fumbled 
and ran wild and misjudged punts and acted like 
a bunch of grammar school kids. You could have 
heard their quarter raving at them as far away as 
the laboratory, I guess. The first thing anyone 
knew Hollins had pushed White over for a touch- 
down and Tru had kicked a pretty goal? 

Oh boy ! Maybe we didn’t go crazy on the stand ! 
Why, we hadn’t done anything like that to En- 
wright in four years! We got cocky and crazy- 
headed and predicted a score something like 
twenty-eight to nothing! We ought to have known 
better, but we didn’t. Enwright sort of pulled her- 
self together after that and held us off until the 
quarter was up. But we were still hopeful and 
looked for more glory in the second period. The 
glory was there, too, but it went to Enwright. She 
came bravely out of her trance and pushed us 
straight down the field for a touchdown and then, 
when White misjudged a long corkscrew punt and 
had to fall on the ball on our twelve yards, she 
did it again in just three rushes. She missed both 
187 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

goals, though, and we got some comfort from that. 
Twelve to seven wasn’t so bad, after all. And the 
game wasn’t half over yet. 

But, although the visitors didn’t score again in 
that quarter, they outplayed us badly. And they 
kept it up in the third period, too, after we had 
sung and cheered all during half-time. But they 
didn’t score. They had three perfectly good 
chances, and each time some turn of the luck 
queered them. Of course, our fellows did their bit. 
They were giving their well-known imitation of 
Horatius keeping the bridge. But, shucks, if it 
hadn’t been for a fumble on our three yards, a per- 
fectly punk pass from center to fullback and hold- j 
ing in the line, Enwright would have scored three 
times in that quarter. The trouble with us was 
that we never forgot who we were up against. We 
were whatyoucallems — fatalists. When an En- 
wright runner was tackled he kept on running and 
made another yard, maybe two or three. When one 
of our fellows was tackled he quit cold. Same way 
in hitting the line. When one of our backs ran up 
against the defense he eased up. Even our punting 
showed it. We didn’t mean to quit, but we were 
doing it. We oozed through the third quarter with 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

the score still twelve to seven, and we began to hope 
then that we could hold the score where it was. 
What happened after the whistle blew I got from 
Tru and Jce. 

Coach Morgan called Joe from the bench. “Jones 
is very bad,” he said in that quiet, crisp way of his, 
“and they’re making too many gains at our center, 
Talmadge. It’s too bad we haven’t anyone to stiffen 
it, isn’t it? If it was only the second team I’d 
chance putting you in.” 

Joe looked troubled. “I’ll try my best, sir,” he 
said doubtfully. 

“We-ell, I don’t know. They’ve got us beaten 
anyway, and ” 

Joe flared up. “They have! Like fun they have! 
We’ve got ourselves beaten. There isn’t a fellow 
out there that doesn’t think he’s done for right now. 
There isn’t one of ’em that really expects to win. 
There isn’t more than one or two that’s trying. 
They’re just dying game, that’s all they’re doing! 
Beaten ! Yah, that En wright bunch would quit cold 
if someone put up a real fight!” 

“Think so ?” asked the coach mildly. “I wonder. 
Too bad someone couldn’t go out there and convince 
them of that, isn’t it, Talmadge?” 

189 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

“Yes, but what’s the use? They won’t believe it, 
Coach.” 

“They might — if it was put to them hard 
enough,” the man mused. 

Joe began to pull up his sweater sort of half- 
heartedly. 

“If you think that way, Talmadge, you might get 
the others to. You might try it. It wouldn’t do 
any harm. We’re beaten anyway, and ” 

“That ain’t so !” cried Joe angrily. “You know it, 
too!” 

“What good does my knowing it do?” asked 
Morgan gently. 

Joe pulled his sweater over his head and flung it 
behind him. 

“Jones?” he asked. 

The coach nodded. “And tell Truitt I said I’d 
changed my plans. Tell him I’ve decided to win 
the game.” 

Joe grinned. Then he ran on just in time and 
pushed Jones out of the way. 

It was Enwright’s ball on her forty-six yards, 
second down and five to go when Joe arrived. Tru 
looked a bit puzzled at the message for a moment, 
but then he grasped the idea and it seemed to do 


190 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 


him a lot of good. “That’s the stuff!” he cried 
hoarsely. “We’ve got orders from the coach to 
win this, fellows ! What d’ye say now ! Everyone 
into it hard ! All we want’s one score. Let’s 
get it!” 

Enwright tried out the new center and made only 
a yard. Joe jeered at them. “Come again!” he 
told them. “Always glad to see you!” They got 
three past left tackle and Joe was on Conners like 
a ton of bricks, bawling him out. “What do you 
think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Trying to 
chuck this game away? Fight, you big baby! Don’t 
let ’em walk over you! Fight!” 

Conners was so surprised that he forgot to get 
mad until it was too late. Tru said that having 
Joe butt in and take things out of his hands like 
that sort of flabbergasted him, but he was so tired 
and used up he was glad to have someone else do 
the bossing. Enwright only needed another yard 
to make her distance and she tried to shove her way 
past Conners for it. But Conners was insulted and 
mad clean through now, and he wouldn’t have it, 
and blamed if we didn’t take the ball away from 
them in the middle of the field, and for the first 
time that day! 


191 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


After that Joe created his own atmosphere, as he 
had put it to me, and it was a brand new atmosphere 
for the rest of the bunch. He kept dinning it into 
them that they were going to win, that Enwright 
was a lot of quitters and all tired out, anyway, that 
they only needed a touchdown and that they were 
on their way to it. And blessed if they didn’t begin 
to believe it ! And it wasn’t long before Enwright 
was thinking there might be something in it, too! 
Tru said you could notice the difference five minutes 
after the last quarter began. They eased up and 
didn’t round off their plays. Their quarter began 
to change signals, and once they went back and 
put their heads together. When they did that Joe 
gloated openly and began to show even more pep. 

“Sure!” he cried, “Talk it over! Know you’re 
beaten, don’t you? If you’ve got anything left, 
show it! Time’s getting short !” 

It was, too. There was only about seven minutes 
left. We had taken the ball back to their twenty- 
eight and had to punt, and they had run it back to 
the thirty-six and were shy four yards on the third 
down. They got two of the four on a delayed 
pass that fooled every one on our team except Joe, 
it seemed, and then had to punt. Of course, all they 
192 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 


wanted now was to kill time, and they tried every 
means they knew. But White got away from our 
thirty-five with a run that landed the pigskin past 
the middle again and then Morgan sent Presson 
back into the line-up and Press ate up ten yards in 
three plunges. It looked like we had them going 
then, and we were cheering ourselves hoarse on the 
stand. Joe snarled and bullied, and praised, too, 
and in those last five minutes he had every fellow 
on the team working for him like dogs. And they 
all expected to win, too. That's the funny part of 
it. Dobbs told me afterwards that if we'd been 
beaten he would have cried like a kid. But we 
weren't. No, sir, we weren't. Not that year. We 
ate them up from their thirty-eight yards right 
down to their ten. They stiffened then and at first 
it was like chipping concrete to make gains. There 
was hardly more than a minute left. We could hear 
Joe barking and yelping. Even when he sounded 
the maddest you felt sure that he was going to get 
what he was after. 

And Enwright knew it, too. Yes, sir, Enwright 
showed it right then. She wasn't cocky any longer. 
She was pegged out and nervous and discouraged. 
You could see it in the way the backs changed posi- 
193 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


tions behind the forwards, not being sure where 
they’d better stay, and you could see it in the way 
the line started before the ball twice. We made a 
yard and a half on the first plunge and lost the half 
on the second, and it was nine to go on the third 
down. 

We were all off the stand by that time, cluster- 
ing along the side line and back of the goal, cheer- 
ing and yelping at one moment and then being so 
still the quarter’s voice sounded like claps of thun- 
der. Our right end scampered off, Joe passed to 
the quarter, quarter faked a forward and dropped 
the ball to Maynard and Maynard shot straight into 
the center. Joe was clearing the hole out for him, 
and he did it to the king’s taste. Right through and 
into the secondary defense plunged Joe, taking them 
with him as he went, while Maynard, head down, 
pigskin clutched to his tummy, followed after. 
They stopped them short of the last line, but not 
much short, and we still had another down. 

The timekeeper was walking nearer and nearer 
with his eyes on his watch and we fellows looking 
on almost had heart failure. It seemed to us that 
our team had never taken longer to line up and 
that the quarter had never been so slow with his 
194 


“PSYCHOLOGY STUFF” 

signals. But he got them out finally and — Oh, well, 
you know what happened. It was Joe again, and 
Maynard again, and Enwright went down like nine- 
pins and our whole team broke through her center 
and went tumbling, streaming over the goal line! 
And when the whistle blew Joe had to trot back 
from the other side of the end line, he had been 
going so hard ! 

That’s how we broke the hoodoo. Tru failed at 
goal, but we had won, thirteen to twelve, anyway. 
They elected Joe captain a week later, and he would 
have been a corker if the war hadn’t come along. 
He went over in the spring, and the next thing we 
heard he was top sergeant. I’m sorry for the Huns 
in front of Joe’s platoon if he used that psychology 
stuff! 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 


C APTAIN EZRA BLAKE, seated on the 
edge of the deck-house of the little schooner 
Molly and Kate, was trying to do two 
things at once. He was superintending the unload- 
ing of ballast by a crew of four men and a boy and 
he was answering the questions of Billy Mayes, 
who sat beside him. Billy was twelve and Cap- 
tain Ezra was almost five times twelve, but they 
were great cronies. The Molly and Kate was tied 
up to Forster's Wharf only last evening, and al- 
ready, this being a Saturday morning, Billy was 
on hand to hear what wonderful adventures had 
befallen his friend on the latest voyage. The Molly 
and Kate carried lumber to fascinating Southern 
ports like Charleston and Savannah and Jackson- 
ville and even, less frequently, Havana, and never 
a voyage but what Captain Ezra returned with a 
new budget of marvelous tales for Billy’s delight. 
Some day Billy was going to sail with the Captain 
196 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

and see the astounding places and things with his 
own two very blue eyes: see Charleston and Cape 
Hatteras and the Sea Islands and Florida. But 
more especially he would visit Pirate Key, for it 
was on Pirate Key that the Captain met with his 
very startlingest adventures. Billy had never been 
able to find Pirate Key on any map, but, as the 
Captain explained, it wasn’t very big and few 
mariners even knew of its existence. Somewhere 
between the Marquesas and the Dry Tortugas it 
lay, and beyond that the Captain declined to com- 
mit himself : which, under the circumstances, Billy 
considered quite proper, for it seemed that the 
natives of Pirate Key were a peculiarly sensitive 
people and much averse to visitors and publicity. 
Even the Captain, with his winning personality, 
had had much difficulty in becoming friends with 
the inhabitants of the island. The first time he 
had tried to land on it, many years ago, he and 
his crew had been fired on with poisoned arrows. 
Captain Ezra could still point out the dents made 
by the arrows on the old blue dory that trailed 
astern there. The Captain, with one mild gray 
eye on the crew, had just finished a soul-stirring 
account of the hurricane that had met them off 
197 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

the South Carolina coast on their northward trip, 
and Billy was still glowing with pride at the thought 
of knowing so intimately a person of such nautical 
skill and personal bravery, for, although the Cap- 
tain hadn’t said so in so many words, it was very 
plain that only heroism and remarkable seamanship 
had brought the Molly and Kate safely through 
great peril, when “Long Joe” Bowen, shoveling 
sand nearby, was conquered by a perfectly terrible 
spasm of coughing and choking. Captain Ezra 
viewed him silently for a moment and then in- 
quired mildly: 

“Been an’ swallered some o’ that sand, Joe?” 

“Long Joe” nodded and said “Yes, sir,” in a very 
husky voice. 

“Mm, well you want to be more careful,” ad- 
vised the Captain most sympathetically, “ ’cause if 
you ain’t I’m likely to have to swab out your throat 
for you, an’ that’s a remarkably painful operation, 
Joe.” 

There was no response to this, but Billy could 
see “Long Joe’s” shoulders heaving and knew that 
he must already be in much pain. Billy, like his 
friend the Captain, had a very sympathetic nature. 
When the sufferer appeared to be easier Billy looked 
198 


BILLY MAYES* GREAT DISCOVERY 

up again at the Captain’s seamed and ruddy 
countenance and asked: 

“Did you get to Pirate Key this time, sir?” 

“Pirate Key?” responded the Captain. “Oh, yes, 
we were there a couple o’ days. Not on business, 
but you see I’d promised the King I’d drop in on 
him the next time I was down around there. Seein’ 
as he leads a kind o’ lonely life, an’ him an’ me 
bein’ particular friends, as you might say, I didn’t 
have the heart to say no to him.” 

“Was he quite well?” asked Billy politely. 

“Pretty smart for an old fellow. You see, Billy, 
he’s — let me see — why, he must be well over a 
hundred now.” 

“A hundred 1” gasped the boy. 

The Captain nodded gravely. “Them Pirate Key 
folks lives a long time. They don’t go to school 
until they’re twenty. If they did, you see, they’d 
forget all they’d learned afore they was what you 
might call middle-aged.” 

Billy pondered that. Not going to school until 
one was twenty had things to be said in its favor. 
Still, it was revolutionary, and he decided to put 
it aside for further consideration. 


199 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


“And how was the Queen? And the Prince ?” 
he asked interestedly. 

“Well, the Queen was well, but the Prince had 
been an' ate something as didn’t agree with him. 
The Royal Physician was some worried when I 
got there, but I give him a couple o’ doses of kero- 
sine oil an’ it did him a power o’ good.” 

“The — the physician?” asked Billy doubtfully. 

“No, the Prince, o’ course. There wasn’t noth- 
ing the matter with the physician.” The Captain 
sounded slightly vexed. “He’d been an’ ate some 
— some — what’s this now ? — some hoki-moki fruit.” 
He viewed Billy sternly. “The Prince had.” 

“Really?” asked Billy. “What — what is hoki- 
moki fruit like?” 

“Well,” replied the narrator, knocking the ashes 
from his pipe and thoughtfully scraping the bowl 
with his pocket knife, “it’s a sort o’ like a orange 
an’ sort o’ like a apple.” 

“Oh!” 

“An’ it’s pizen if you eat it afore it’s ripe. Don’t 
never touch a hoki-moki fruit till it’s purple, Billy.” 

Billy promised instantly. “Only,” he added, “I 
might not know it, Captain Ezra, if I was to go 
200 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

to Pirate Key. Is it round? Does it grow on 
trees ?” 

“More square than round, you might say. It 
grows in clusters as big as that water cask there. 
Hundreds of ’em together. An’ they grow high 
because if they didn’t the wild horses would eat ’em 
when they was green an’ die. That’s one o’ the 
wonders o’ Nature, Billy.” 

“Yes, sir. But I didn’t know horses ate fruit.” 

“Ain’t you ever see a horse eat a apple? Why, 
they’re plumb fond o* apples. Bananas, too. An’ 
watermelons. Guess the only kind o’ fruit a horse 
won’t eat is cocoanuts.” The Captain filled his pipe 
leisurely and in silence. Then: “Another peculiar 
thing, Billy, is that you might call the affinity o’ the 
hoki-moki tree an’ them wild horses. They can’t 
keep away from ’em, the horses can’t. There’s 
something about the — the tree itself that draws the 
horses: something in the wood, they say. You don’t 
never find any bark on a hoki-moki tree low down 
because the wild horses keeps rubbin’ themselves 
against it. Seems like they just can’t resist the — 
the sub-tile influence. It’s extraordinary.” 

Billy agreed emphatically that it was. “Are there 
201 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
many wild horses on the key?” he inquired after a 
moment. 

“Thousands. The natives catch ’em an’ train 
’em. The King has more’n three hundred horses 
in his private stable, an’ the Queen she has about a 
hundred, an’ the Prince he’s got maybe thirty or 
forty, too.” The Captain applied a lighted match 
to his pipe and puffed blue smoke clouds into the 
spring sunlight. “They kill ’em for their hides, 
too,” he went on presently. “They make fine 
leather.” 

“I shouldn’t think they’d need leather,” said Billy, 
“being just savages.” 

“Savages!” The Captain viewed him reprov- 
ingly. “Don’t you ever let ’em hear you say that, 
son ! Benighted, in a manner o’ speakin’, they may 
be, but they ain’t savages. As for leather, why, 
now, they make lots o’ uses o’ it: saddles an’ har- 
nesses an’ travelin’ bags ” 

“Traveling bags!” 

“ — An’ trunks.” The captain paid no heed to the 
interruption. “An’ here’s another peculiar thing. 
You may be able to explain it, but I can’t, an’ I 
never heard anyone who could. Them hoki-mok? 
trees has just as much affinity for a horse-hide as 
202 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 


they has for the horse himself. Lay a horse-hide 
saddle twenty feet away from a hoki-moki tree 
an’ just as soon as you lets go of it it’ll begin 
to move right over to the tree and try to rub itself 
against it! Now you explain that!” 

“But I can’t,” said Billy, wide-eyed. “It — it’s 
most — most extronry!” 

“It surely is !” declared the Captain. “What you 
might call one o’ the marvels o’ Science. I ain’t 
never — That the lot, Joe? Well, I guess it’s most 
dinner time, ain’t it? Talkin’ always gives me a 
powerful appetite an’ I’m plumb famished. Sing 
out to Steve to start that galley fire an’ get a hustle 
on him !” 

Billy’s thoughts dwelt a good deal for the rest of 
that day on Captain Ezra’s interesting discourse, 
and when he went to sleep it was to dream terribly 
complicated things about wild horses and hoki-moki 
trees and the fascinating inhabitants of Pirate Key 
who wore the scantiest attires but indulged them- 
selves in traveling bags ! Sunday was always a hard 
day to live through, for after church and Sunday 
school were past many empty hours stretched ahead. 
This Sunday, however, was not so bad, for Mr. 
Humbleton, the bank treasurer, came to call in the 


203 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


afternoon and brought Arthur Humbleton with 
him. Arthur was fourteen and a youth of affairs 
and position in the community, as became the son 
of a bank treasurer. For one thing, Arthur was 
captain of the Broadport Junior Baseball Team. 
Billy and Arthur were graciously allowed to retire 
from the front parlor and the society of their elders 
and found sanctuary on the little side porch where 
the chill of an easterly April breeze failed to pene- 
trate. Billy was glad of the opportunity to talk 
to Arthur, for he had a request to make, and after 
several false starts he managed to make it. 

“I wish,” he said, after swallowing hard a couple 
of times, “I wish you’d let me play on the nine this 
year, Arthur.” 

Arthur Humbleton observed him frowningly. 
Then he shook his head. “I don’t see how I could, 
Billy,” he answered. “The team’s all made up, in 
the first place, and then you aren’t much of a player. 
Maybe next year ” 

“I can play in the outfield all right,” defended 
Billy eagerly. 

“Oh, most any fellow can catch a fly,” replied 
the other carelessly. “There’s more to baseball than 
204 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

just that, Billy. You’ve got to know how to run 
the bases and bat and lots of things.” 

“I can run bases just as fast as ” Billy paused. 

He had been going to say “as you can,” but diplo- 
macy came to his aid. “As fast as Tom Wallace 
can,” he substituted. 

“Maybe, but you can’t bat a little bit,” responded 
Arthur triumphantly. “And you know you can’t.” 

“If I had more practice, Arthur ” 

“No, sir, you couldn’t ever be a real corking 
batter.” Arthur was kindly but firm. “A fellow 
has to have the batting eye. Of course I don’t say 
that maybe if you worked awfully hard this year 
and practiced every day you mightn’t be a lot better, 
but I don’t believe you’ll ever be a real star, Billy.” 

The subject, engrossing to both boys, continued 
for some time, and in the end it was agreed that 
Billy should become a sort of unofficial outfield 
substitute with the privilege of practicing with the 
nine sometimes and making himself useful chasing 
the long flies that infrequently went over Mr. Ban- 
nerman’s garden fence. As Mr. Bannerman was 
aged and crabbed and disliked seeing small boys 
wallowing across his asparagus bed in search of 
baseballs, the position assigned to Billy promised as 
205 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


much danger as honor. But he knew himself to be 
fast on his feet and knew Mr. Bannerman to be 
slow, and he accepted gratefully. Soon after that 
Arthur was summoned hurriedly by his father, so 
hurriedly that he left behind him an enticing blue 
paper-bound pamphlet entitled “How to Play Base 
Ball” which Billy discovered just before supper and 
which he surreptitiously studied later behind the 
shielding pages of “Travels in the Holy Land.” 

But he found it difficult to understand until he 
happened on a dozen pages at the end of the book- 
let devoted to advertisements of baseball goods. 
There were soul-stirring pictures and descriptions 
of mitts and gloves, bats and masks and balls. He 
admired and coveted, and mentally compared the 
prices set down against the articles with the con- 
tents of the little box in his top bureau drawer 
that was his bank. The comparison wasn't encour- 
aging. Billy sighed. And just then his eyes fell 
on a word that challenged attention. “Westcott's 
Junior League Ball,” he read. “Regulation size and 
weight, rubber center, all-wool yam, double cover 
of best quality selected horsehide. Warranted to 
last a full game without losing elasticity or shape.” 

Billy read it twice. Then he became thoughtful. 

206 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

After that he read the description of the baseball 
again and his eyes became big and round. Later, 
in bed, with the light from the electric lamp at the 
corner illuming the ceiling, he lay sleeping for 
a long hour, experiencing the triumph that thrills 
all great discoverers and inventors. 

The next morning he surprised every member of 
the household by being downstairs in advance of 
breakfast and with his shoes tied! His mother 
viewed him anxiously and felt his face but was 
unable to detect anything abnormal save, perhaps, 
a certain intensity of gaze and impatience of delay. 
There was a full half-hour between breakfast and 
school and Billy made the most of it. Captain Ezra 
was smoking his pipe on the wharf when Billy 
arrived, breathless, on the scene. 

“Well, well,” exclaimed the Captain. “Ain’t you 
round kind of early?” 

But there was scant time for amenities and Billy 
plunged directly into his business. “Are you going 
down South again pretty soon, sir?” he inquired 
anxiously. The Captain allowed that he was; as 
soon, in fact, as the new cargo was aboard, which, 
if he wasn’t saddled with the laziest crew on record, 
ought to be in about four days. “And are you going 
207 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
to Pirate Key?” Billy continued. The Captain 
blinked. 

^Well, I might,” he replied after slight hesita- 
tion. “Why?” 

“Because I want you to bring me a piece of that 
hoki-moki wood, sir, a piece big enough to make a 
bat. You see ” 

“A bat? What sort of a bat?” 

“Why, a baseball bat. Could you, do you think ? 
It would have to be that long — ” Billy stretched 
his arms — “and that big around — ” Billy formed 
a circle with his small fingers — “and it oughtn’t to 
have any knots in it. Is hoki-moki very knotty, 
Captain Ezra?” 

“Knotty? N-no, I wouldn’t call it that. I ” 

He coughed and cast a troubled gaze toward the 
lighthouse point. “What was it you wanted it for, 
now?” 

“A baseball bat,” answered Billy, almost impa- 
tiently. “I thought if you could get me a piece 
big enough I could get Jerry Williams, over at 
Morris’s carpenter shop, to make it for me. Could 
you? Would it — would it be much trouble to you, 
sir?” 

“Why, n-no, only — hm — you see I ain’t plumb 
208 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 


sure of gettin’ to Pirate Key this trip, Billy.’’ Billy’s 
face fell and Captain Ezra went on quickly.' “But 
I ain’t sayin’ I won’t, you know. Fact is, it’s more’n 
likely I will. An’ if I do ” 

“Oh, will you please?” cried Billy, beaming. 
“How much would it cost, sir? I’ve only got 
twenty-two cents, but if you’d take that I’d pay you 
the rest when you came back.” He dug into a 
pocket, but the Captain waved the suggestion aside. 

“Shucks,” he said, “a little piece o’ wood ain’t 
goin’ to cost nothin’. Why, I guess I could bring 
off a whole tree if I wanted it. I guess there ain’t 
anything on that there island I couldn’t have for 
the askin’, Billy, the King an’ me bein’ so friendly. 
Tell you what I’ll do now. I’ll get ’em to cut a 
piece o’ that wood an’ make the bat for you right 
there. How’ll that be?” 

Billy looked dubious. “Why, that’s awfully 
kind, sir, but — but do you think they’d know how 
to make a baseball bat? Bats have to be made 
awf’ly partic’larly, Captain Ezra, or else they aren’t 
much good.” 

“Don’t you worry about that, son. They been 
makin’ their own bats on Pirate Key for years, an’ 
I guess there ain’t no better ones to be had.” 

209 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


^Why, do they play baseball there ?” gasped the 
boy. 

“ 'Course they do ! Leastways, they play what’s 
pretty near like it. The — the general idea’s similar. 
They’re plumb crazy about it, too. They got a 

eight-club league down there ” 

But at that moment the bell in the town hall 
clanged its first stroke and Billy fled. 

During the four days that the Molly and Kate 
remained at Forster’s Wharf, Billy and the Captain 
met twice and when the schooner finally sailed the 
Captain had full, detailed and most explicit instruc- 
tions regarding that length of straight, well-sea- 
soned hoki-moki wood that was to be brought back 
either in the rough or shaped into the Pirate Key 
idea of a baseball bat. After that there was nothing 
for Bill to do save await the return of the schooner. 1 
April gave place to May and the Broadport 
Juniors began to play Saturday afternoon games 
on the back common and to practice diligently 
on other days after school was over. Billy served 
a rigorous apprenticeship in the outfield, chasing 
flies that went over the heads of the regular players 
and several times scrambling over Mr. Bannerman’s 
fence and recovering the ball from under the rhu- • 
210 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

[ barb or from between the rows of early peas. So 
far fortune had attended him and he had invariably 
escaped with his life. Now and then he was al- 
lowed to take his turn with the batters and stand 
up at the plate while Waldo Hutchins pitched his 
famous “slow ones.” Practice is supposed to make 
perfect, but Billy was still a long way from perfec- 
tion as a batsman. Nor could either he or Arthur 
Humbleton observe any great amount of improve- 
ment. But Billy persisted, consoling himself with 
rosy dreams of the future. Almost any day now 
the Molly and Kate might return bearing Billy’s 
Great Discovery. 

Meanwhile the Juniors won from Scalfield Gram- 
mar School, were defeated by the West Side Reds 
and were annihilated by the Downerport Eagles. 
And then, as it seemed to Billy, just in the nick of 
time to prevent a similar fate at the hands of that 
especial rival, the Broadport White Sox, the Molly 
and Kate tied up again at Forster’s Wharf ! 

That was an eventful day in Billy’s life, eventful 
from the moment he heard the glad news to the 
moment that he was back at the house with the 
precious hoki-moki bat in his possession. He had 
scarcely heard Captain Ezra’s detailed and interest- 
211 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


ing account of the securing of the article. For once, 
anxious to put the bat to the test, Billy thought the 
Captain just the least bit loquacious ! But he ban- ; 
ished the thought almost instantly, blushing for its 
ungraciousness, and quite overwhelmed his bene- 
factor with thanks ere he hurried away with the 
bat tightly clutched in hand and one jacket pocket 
bulging with a perfectly good “genuine horsehide” 
ball that had seen only two weeks’ service in prac- 
tice and had been acquired from Captain Humbleton 
for fifteen cents. 

Subsiding, much out of breath, on the edge of 
the side porch, Billy once more examined his prize 
with eager eyes. As to shape it looked as fine as 
the best “wagon tongue” ever made. There was no 
doubt about it, those Pirate Key natives knew how 
to make a baseball bat! Billy was just a trifle dis- 
appointed about one thing, however, and that was 
the lack of novelty. To all appearance the bat was 
quite like any other bat except that the inscription 
“Genuine Hoki-Moki Wood” appeared half-way 
along its smooth length. The words were printed 
in uneven characters, and evidently with pen and 
ink, and the ink had run with the grain of the wood. 
The varnish was still new and just a bit sticky, but 
212 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

that was to be expected since varnish always dried 
slowly near salt water. Hoki-moki wood was, con- 
trary to Billy’s preconceived idea, light instead of 
dark, and closely resembled ash. A surprising 
feature of the bat was the twine-wound handle. It 
seemed strange to Billy that the natives of Pirate 
Key should know of that refinement. His respect 
for them grew tremendously then and there. 

Having examined the bat to his heart’s content, 
he stood up and swung it experimentally. It proved 
the least bit heavier than he could have wished, but 
that wasn’t anything to trouble about. He had 
frequently heard Jack Cantrell express a preference 
for a heavy bat, and Jack was the hard-hitter of 
the Broadport Juniors. Remained now the supreme 
test, and Billy approached it falteringly. Suppose 
it failed! Suppose Captain Ezra’s tales of the pe- 
culiar properties of hoki-moki wood proved false! 
Billy felt that the disappointment would be more 
than he could bear! Nerving himself to the ordeal, 
he laid the bat at the edge of the porch, squeezed 
the horsehide ball from his pocket and deposited it 
with trembling fingers against the house. Seven 
feet separated ball and bat, and as he withdrew his 
fingers he gave a deep troubled sigh. For an instant 
213 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


it seemed that the experiment was to fail, and Billy’s 
heart sank sickeningly. But then, as he stepped 
back across the boards to the porch’s edge the 
miracle happened. Slowly, irresolutely the ball 
moved, rolled a few inches, stopped, went on, l 
gathered momentum and traveled straight along a 
board until it bumped companionably against the 
hoki-moki bat! 

Billy shrieked his triumph and danced ecstatically 
on the mignonette bed. It was true! The Great 
Discovery was proved. 

Again he tried the experiment and again the ball 
yielded to the magic influence of the bat as the 
needle of a compass yields to the influence of the 
North Pole. Thrice the experiment worked per- 
fectly. A fourth time the ball, having been placed 
further to the left, collided with the handle of the 
bat, jumped it and rolled over the edge of the porch 
into the flower bed. Billy waited for it to rise up 
and come back again, but that effort appeared be- 
yond it Considering that a distance of eighteen 
inches intervened between porch floor and flower 
bed, Billy felt that it would be asking too much 
of the ball. Anyway, it atoned a minute later by 
rolling nicely from house wall to bat with what 
214 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 


seemed greater alacrity. Billy was more than 
satisfied. 

I feel that I ought to inform the reader of a fact 
that quite escaped Billy, which is that the outer 
edge of the side porch was fully an inch and a half 
lower than the inner, being so built that water 
would run off it. I doubt if Billy ever knew of this. 
Certainly the slope was not perceptible to an un- 
suspicious vision. I make no claim that the slope 
of the porch floor had anything to do with the re- 
markable behavior of the ball. I am willing to 
| believe that the ball would have rolled across to the 
bat had the floor been perfectly level. I only men- 
tion the fact in the interest of truth. 

Later Billy sought the back yard and tried throw- 
ing the ball in the air and hitting it with the bat. 
At first this experiment proved less successful than 
the other, but presently he found, to his great de- 
light, that he could hit almost every time! To be 
sure, he didn’t always hit just squarely, but he hit. 
That absorbing occupation came to an end when 
the ball went through a cellar window with a fine 
sound of breaking glass. Thereupon Billy recov- 
ered the ball and went innocently in to supper. 

215 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

That night, for fear of burglary, Billy slept with 
the hoki-moki bat beside him under the covers. 

The next day was Saturday and the day of the 
White Sox game. Billy spent most of the morning 
knocking the ball against the back yard fence and 
only desisted when Aunt Julia informed him from 
an upstairs window that she had a headache and 
would go crazy if he didn’t stop making all that 
noise. Billy stopped and went and sat on the side 
porch, with his feet in the mignonette and the 
hoki-moki bat hugged to his triumphant breast, and 
dreamed dreams worthy of Caesar or Napoleon. 

The Broadport Juniors wanted to win to-day's 
game, wanted to win it more than they wanted to 
win any other contest in a long and comprehensive 
schedule. The White Sox team was comprised of 
boys who lived on the Hill. The Hill was the town’s 
patrician quarter. Just about everyone who lived 
up there had an automobile and a chauffeur to drive 
it and wore their good clothes all the time. The 
juvenile residents of that favored locality were, in 
the estimate of the down-town boys, stuck-up and 
snobbish, and they had a fine opinion of their base- 
ball prowess. The worst of it was that their opinion 
was justified, for the White Sox — the down-town- 
216 


BILLY MAYES* GREAT DISCOVERY 


crs jeeringly called them the Silk Sox — usually beat 
almost every team they went up against ! Last year 
the Juniors had played two contests with them and 
had been beaten decisively each time. And so Cap- 
tain Arthur Humbleton and all the other boys of 
the Juniors and all their adherents — including 
mothers and brothers and sisters and an occasional 
father — were especially keen on a victory. And 
when, in the first of the sixth inning, the White Sox 
finally solved Waldo*s delivery and made three hits 
and, aided by an infield error, sent four runs over 
the plate the Juniors* bright dream faded and de- 
spondency gloomed the countenance of Captain 
Humbleton and his doughty warriors. The White 
Sox had already held a one-run lead, the score at 
the start of the sixth having been 12 to 11, and 
now, with four more tallies added, they looked to 
have the contest safely on ice. 

Billy, his precious bat held firmly between his 
knees, occupied a seat on the substitute’s bench, a 
yellow-grained settee borrowed from the High 
School across the common. He had twice offered 
his services to Arthur and they had been twice 
refused, the second time with a scowl. Billy was 
absolutely certain that he could, if allowed to face 
217 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

the opposing batter, who hadn’t much but a fast 
ball to boast of, deliver wallops that would radi- 
cally alter the history of the game. But the hoki- 
moki bat was no better than any little old sixty- 
cent stick so long as he was not allowed to use it. 
To his credit is the fact that he had determined, 
in case the White Sox still held the lead at the 
beginning of the ninth inning, to entrust the bat 
to others should Arthur still refuse his services. 
That was real self-denial, real patriotism. As much 
as Billy wanted to wield the wonderful hoki-moki 
bat himself victory for the team stood first. 

The friends of the Juniors clapped and cheered 
as “Wink” Billings went to bat in the last of the 
sixth, and the one who cheered the loudest was 
Captain Ezra Blake. The Captain had come at 
Billy’s earnest and repeated behest and had togged 
himself out wonderfully in honor of the occasion. 
The Captain did not, Billy suspected now, know a 
great deal about baseball, for he cheered just as 
loudly when a villainous White Sox rapped out a 
two-bagger as he did when one of the Juniors 
stole home from third. But it was very evident 
that the Captain’s intentions were of the best. 

The last of the sixth developed no runs for the 
218 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

Juniors, nor did the seventh add to the score of 
either side. In the eighth the White Sox captain 
got to third with two down and tried to tally on 
a bunt past the pitcher’s box. But shortstop ran in, 
scooped up the ball and nailed him a foot from the 
plate. The Juniors started their inning by a safe 
rap that placed Cantrell on first base. Myers sac- 
rificed neatly and then the next man connected for 
a screeching liner that was too hot for the Sox 
second baseman and Cantrell scored the Juniors’ 
twelfth tally. But the score was still four runs to 
the advantage of the White Sox when Stone hit into 
a double and ended the inning. 

Captain Humbleton pretended a confidence he 
didn’t feel and assured the team that all they had 
to do now was hold the Sox and then bat out a 
victory. It sounded easy, but Billy felt defeat im- 
pending. He tried to get a word with Arthur 
before that youth hurried off to his infield position, 
but failed. The White Sox started by putting their 
third baseman on first in consequence of Waldo 
Hutchins’ inability to pitch strikes. Then a bunt 
was mishandled by the catcher and there were run- 
ners on first and second, and things looked very 
bad. The next player was thrown out, but the 
219 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

others moved up a base apiece. The infield crept 
closer. The White Sox left fielder tried hard to 
slug, missed two and finally popped up a silly little 
foul that dropped comfortably in the catcher’s mitt, 
and the Junior nine’s adherents cheered loudly, 
Captain Ezra’s voice dominating all like a fog siren. 
There was another period of doubt and anxiety 
when, after knocking the ball everywhere save be- 
tween the foul lines, the Sox first baseman finally 
whaled out a long, arching fly. The bases emptied 
and the runners scuttled home, but Leo Smith arose 
to the occasion like a veteran — which he was not — I 
and pulled down the ball. 

“Four to tie ’em and five to win!” shouted 
Arthur as he trotted in to the bench. “Come on 

now, fellows! Let’s get this! We can What 

is it, Billy? Don’t bother me now!” 

“I’ve got to, Arthur,” said Billy firmly, a tight 
clutch on the captain’s arm. “You’ve got to listen 
a minute. If you want to win this you must let 
me bat, Arthur. I can’t help hitting with this bat, 
honest, and ” 

“You’re up, Waldo! Work him for a base. Get 
it somehow!” Arthur tugged impatiently, but Billy 
held like glue. “You see, it’s a hoki-moki wood bat, 
220 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

Arthur, and hoki-moki wood has a — a infinity for 
horsehide. All you got to do is just swing the bat 
and the ball comes right up and hits it. It’s the 
greatest discovery of ” 

“What are you talking about?” demanded the 
captain. “Let’s see your old bat. ‘Hoki-Moki 
Wood,’ eh?” he jeered. “Where’d you get this con- 
traption?” 

And, still holding him firmly, Billy told him, 
and in spite of his expression of incredulity Arthur 
was secretly a little bit impressed. “Oh, shucks,” 
he said, “I don’t believe it, Billy! It ain’t pos- 
sible! ’Course, you might have luck ” He 

paused and frowned intently and then, with a short 
laugh, added : “Maybe I’ll give you a chance, Billy. 
We’ll see.” 

Billy had to be content with that. Meanwhile 
Waldo Hutchins had waited and walked. An at- 
tempted sacrifice, however, failed to work and 
Waldo was cut off at second. The runner was safe 
on first. With one gone the audience began to 
disperse slowly. Then the Juniors’ right fielder 
landed squarely and rapped past third and hope 
crept back into the breasts of his team-mates. The 
departing onlookers paused in their flight. The Sox 
221 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

second baseman let the throw from the pitcher pass 
unchallenged over his head and the runners ad- 
vanced to second and third. The cheering grew 
frantic. The coachers shouted and danced. “Slim” 
Gaynor did his best but only laid the ball down in 
front of the plate and was tagged out before he 
had taken two strides toward his base. Two on, 
now, and two gone ! 

Billy, his heart racing and jumping, watched 
Arthur anxiously. But Joe Ware was allowed to 
take his turn. Joe was an uncertain batter. The 
White Sox pitcher tempted him with a low one 
and with one on the outside, but Joe refused them. 
Then came a fast one that went as a strike. Then 
one that hit the dirt just back of the plate. The 
pitcher frowned and would have sent the next 
offering in the groove had not the catcher signalled . 
for a pass. Joe walked to first, filling the sacks, 
and cheers filled the air. Arthur himself followed 
Joe Ware, and the bunt he trickled along the first 
base line was a veritable marvel, for it sent a tally 
across, moved runners from first and second and 
left Arthur himself safe on his bag! 

But three runs were still needed to tie and four 
to win, and there were two gone. Billy arose, pale 
222 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

but resolved on sacrifice. He meant to offer the 
precious hoki-moki bat to Steve Sawyer, next up, 
but as he moved toward the plate Arthur, dusting 
himself on first, saw him and recalled that half 
promise. And perhaps he had what he would have 
called a “hunch.” At all events his voice reached 
Billy just as he was about to present the bat to 
Steve's notice: 

“All right, Billy! Hit it out! Let Billy bat, 
Steve!” 

And so Billy, with a fast-beating heart, went on 
to the plate and faced his fate. Surprise and con- 
demnation floated from the bench in mutters. The 
Sox pitcher observed Billy’s small form with a puz- 
zled frown. Then, noting the boy’s evident nerv- 
ousness, he laughed in derision. “See who’s here, 
Jim !” he called to his catcher. “Home-Run Baker, 
isn’t it?” 

“No, it’s Tris Speaker! Be good to him, Tom!” 

“All right! Try this one, kid!” The pitcher 
wound up. Billy pushed his bat around over his 
shoulder. On bases the three runners danced and 
shouted. The coachers yelled incessantly. The in- 
field jabbered. But Billy didn’t hear a sound. Now 
the pitcher’s arm was shooting forward. The ball 
223 


THE PLAY THAT WON 


was singing its way toward him. He tried to watch 
it and couldn’t. But he swung the hoki-moki bat 
around just as hard as he knew how, putting every 
ounce of his strength into it, and something hap- 
pened. There was a resounding blow, electric tin- 
gles shot up Billy’s arms, he staggered and then, 
first. 

Far into right field sped the ball, just inside the 
base line. It raced the runners. Billy raced too. 
Pandemonium assailed his ears. As he reached the 
first bag he sent a final look after the ball and his 
heart leaped with joy. Straight behind Mr. Ban- 
nerman’s garden fence it fell, right amongst the 
early peas and bush limas! 

“Ta ke your time, Billy!” shouted the coach at 
first. “It’s a home run, kid !” 

They never did find that ball, for Mr. Banner- 
man appeared on the scene most inopportunely, but 
it didn’t matter and no one cared. The Juniors 
had won, 17 to 16! The hoki-moki bat had proved 
itself ! And Billy Mayes was a hero ! 

There were unbelievers who denied to Billy’s 
famous bat any special virtue, but Billy knew what 
he knew and had seen what he had seen, and his 
224 


BILLY MAYES’ GREAT DISCOVERY 

faith was unshakable. But, and here is the sorry 
part of my tale, it was several years before Billy 
made another home run, for, although he became a 
regular member of the team and, as time passed, 
became a fairly dependable hitter, the hoki-moki 
bat had lost its cunning. It was not the bat’s fault, 
however. It was due to the fact that, owing to 
the war, baseballs were no longed covered with 
horsehide ! 


THE TWO-MILEE 


W E were sure of winning that spring. John 
Blake, the manager of the team, said that 
if we did not win he should walk home 
when school closed. And as John lives in the west- 
ern part of Ohio and is a man of his word, you can 
see that we were pretty cocksure. 

We met Maynard College and Chamberlain Col- 
lege every June in what we at Preston called the 
“Tri-Track,” which was a quick way of saying Tri- 
angular Track Meet. The year before, Maynard 
had beaten us by five and a half points. Chamber- 
lain usually did not produce a strong team, although 
it had a way now and then of upsetting our calcu- 
lations in an irritating manner. 

We had been hard at work all the spring, and 
when the Saturday of the '‘Tri-Track” came we 
had seventeen men ready to do their best. The 
meet that year was at Chamberlain, and in conse- 
quence we put Chamberlain down for twenty 
226 


THE TWO-MILER 

points, five more than she had ever won. There 
were one hundred and seventeen points in the thir- 
teen events ; to win first place in any event counted 
five, second place three and third place one. 

As I say, we allowed Chamberlain twenty points, 
mostly seconds and thirds, although we did thinl^ 
that her man Cutler would capture first in the high 
jump. Then we put ourselves down for seven firsts. 
That made thirty-five points. We felt likewise sure 
of five seconds. That gave us fifteen points more, 
making fifty in all — more than enough to win. We 
conceded the rest to Maynard. 

Of those seven events in which we expected firsts, 
only one seemed in the least doubtful; that was the 
two-mile race. 

Carl Atherton, the captain of the team, had run 
the distance the year before in io minutes, 41 4-5 
seconds, and had cut that down a second this spring 
in practice. But all the year we had been hearing 
a good deal about a new runner at Maynard named 
Beckner, who was said to have done the two miles 
in forty “flat.” We felt willing, however, to trust 
Carl for the two miles. 

John Blake decided that for once the whole team 
should go to Chamberlain. Usually our funds were 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

low, and only the men who were absolutely neces- 
sary were taken ; but this year the subscriptions had 
been more liberal. 

Bobby Hart was almost as much pleased as any- 
one at John’s decision. Bobby had worked hard 
during the two years he had been in school, and 
deserved to get into a real race. He was not a 
great runner, but there is plenty of room on the 
track in the “distance” runs. 

“I’m going to try for third in the mile,” Bobby 
confided to me on Friday night. “I think I can do 
better than I ever have done.” 

“Yes, but I’m afraid you can’t get third. First 
will go either to Carl or to Dick Bannet, and May- 
nard’s sure to have a man close to them. I shouldn’t 
wonder if Carl let Bannet have the mile and saved 
himself for the two.” 

“Well, anyway, I’ll have the fun of trying,” an- 
swered Bobby. 

We went over to Chamberlain Saturday morning, 
and nearly the whole school went with us. 

Bobby was in great spirits. He kept us laughing 
all the way over, and I could not help thinking what 
a difference there was between him and Carl Ather- 
ton. There was Bobby, as happy as a clam because 
228 


THE TWO-MILER 

they had entered him for the mile and the two mile 
with no chance in the world of his winning better 
than third, and small hope of that; and there was 
Carl, happy, too, perhaps, but not showing it a bit, 
just sitting down at the end of the car talking to 
the trainer or reading a magazine, yet knowing all 
the time that he was sure of one cup, if not two. 
I could not help thinking that of the two perhaps 
Bobby would have made the better captain, if get- 
ting close to the fellows and heartening them up 
had anything to do with it. 

We had luncheon at twelve o’clock, and at half- 
past one we piled into a coach and drove out to the 
field. The old village was much decorated, and the 
crimson of Preston was more plentiful than the 
Maynard blue. Of course the orange and gray of 
Chamberlain was everywhere. 

We went into our dressing tent, put on our run- 
ning clothes, and then went out and limbered up 
a bit. 

At two o’clock the half mile was started, and we 
were pretty well pleased with ourselves when it was 
over. Maynard got third place, but the one point 
for Maynard did not look important against eight 
that we won. 


229 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

Then catne the trials for the hundred yards; two 
of our men qualified. We did not expect much from 
the sprints, and we did not get much. In the finals 
we took third place ; Maynard won first and Cham- 
berlain second. That started the cheering, for the 
orange and gray was pretty well represented on the 
stands, where Maynard and Preston had each only 
a handful of fellows. When they called us for the 
trials of the high hurdles, I did not have any trouble 
in winning from the two Chamberlain runners and 
the one Maynard man opposed to me. Then came 
the mile run. 

Each school was allowed three starters ; our 
entries were Carl Atherton, Dick Bannet and Bobby 
Hart. I heard the trainer giving them their instruc- 
tions. 

‘This is Bannet’s race if he can get it,” he said. 
“But if Bannet can’t win it, you must, Atherton. 
Hart, here, will start in and make the pace for you 
two, and at the end of the third lap you must draw 
up to the front. Save yourself for the two miles 
if you can, Atherton; but if you have to win this, 
do it. We can’t take any chances. And you see if 
you can’t take third place, Hart.” 

The nine runners did some pretty maneuvering 
230 


THE TWO-MILER 

for the pole. When they went down the back stretch 
on the first lap, Bobby was making pace and Carl 
and Bannet were running fourth and fifth. That 
was the order for two laps. Then a Maynard chap 
named Green sprinted and took the lead. Bannet 
pushed up to third place. 

Bobby held on for a while, then dropped back. 
He had just about used himself up. Beckner, the 
Maynard “crack,” was running strongly in sixth 
place, and Carl was watching him closely at every 
turn. 

When the last lap began only five men were left 
in the running — Green, Bannet, Fuller of Chamber- 
lain, Carl and Beckner. 

That was a pretty race; but it did not come out 
right for us. When the home stretch began, Fuller 
passed Bannet and Beckner got away from Carl. 
Then it was Fuller, Bannet and Beckner all the way 
to within twenty feet of the tape, with a couple of 
thousand spectators yelling like mad, and crimson 
and blue and orange flags waving. 

Carl was trying hard to come forward, but he 
had waited too long and was out of it; just as 
much out of it as Bobby, who was jogging doggedly 
along half a lap behind. Twenty feet from the 
231 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

finish Fuller spurted again and left two yards be- 
tween him and the two others, who were fighting 
hard for second place. 

“Come on, Dick!” we shrieked. “Come on! 
Come on !” 

But Bannet could not do any more, and Beckner 
drew slowly away from him in the last half dozen 
strides. Bannet was used up when we caught him. 
And Fuller, too, was pretty tired. Only Beckner 
seemed fresh, and we knew then that he could have 
had first place if he had wanted it, and that he was 
saving himself for the two miles. 

Things did not look so bright for us after that 
race. And after the next one, the finals in the one- 
hundred-and-twenty-yard hurdles, they looked 
worse; for all I could do was to get second by a 
hair’s breadth ; Maynard took first by several yards 
and Chamberlain third. 

I was pretty well cut up over that, but there 
was still the two-hundred-and-twenty, and I vowed 
that I would do better in that. There was need of 
improvement, fbr we had thirteen points to May- 
nard’s fourteen, with Chamberlain not far behind 
with nine. Things were not happening at all as we 
had figured them. 


232 


THE TWO-MILER 

We had counted on eight points in the quarter- 
mile race, but all we got was three, for almost at 
the start Carstein of Chamberlain left everyone be- 
hind and won by fully thirty yards ! That was the 
trouble with Chamberlain ; you never could tell what 
mischief it would cause. 

They called us out for the two-hundred-and- 
twenty-yard hurdle race. The Maynard man and I 
v^ere nip and tuck at the second hurdle. I was a 
little quicker on the cinders than he, but he hurdled 
a good three inches lower than I, and that made 
things even. But at the fourth hurdle he got down 
too low and went over the bar. That put him out 
of pace a little, and I ran for all I was worth. I 
tipped the next hurdle myself, but not enough to 
throw me out. 

At the seventh, I think it was, I was running 
even with the chap at the far side of the track and 
the Maynard fellow was behind. After that I put 
every ounce into beating the unknown — for there 
was no time to see who he was — and we had a battle 
royal. We came over the last hurdle right together, 
and only my speed on the ground beat him, and 
then by very little. Maynard finished a close third. 
And when I turned round and looked at the chap 


233 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
I’d beaten, I found it was one of our own men. 
Bert Poole, who had never won a place before in 
his life! 

We felt better after that, for those eight points 
put us ahead ; but when presently Maynard won six 
points in the furlong dash and Chamberlain got the 
remaining three, v.e began to worry again. The 
results from the field events then began to come in, 
and added to our anxiety. Chamberlain had taken 
first in the high jump, as we expected, but Maynard 
had left us only third place. In the broad jump 
Maynard had won first place and third, and given 
us second. In the pole vault that troublesome 
Chamberlain had again taken first; Maynard had 
taken second and Preston third. In the shot put 
we had first and second, and Maynard had taken 
third. In the hammer throw Maynard had beaten 
us for first, we had taken second and Chamberlain 
third. When we had finished figuring we could 
hardly believe our eyes. The score stood: 

Preston 40 
Maynard 40 
Chamberlain 28 


234 


THE TWO-MILER 

The two-mile run, the last event, would decide the 
meet. And there was Beckner. 

Of course we had not lost faith in Carl, but big, 
strong Beckner was clearly the freshest man on the 
field, and he would take a lot of beating. We had 
to have first place to win the meet. Second and 
third would not be enough, unless Fuller of Cham- 
berlain got first. In that case the championship 
would go to the school that took second. We did 
not know whether Fuller was going to run or not, 
and we were pretty anxious to find out. Only 
Bobby seemed cheerful. 

'‘We can beat them,” he said. “Why, Carl can 
make circles round Beckner, and as for Fuller, that 
mile run used him all up.” 

“Maybe you will do something yourself, Bobby,” 
said I. 

“I shouldn't mind trying, but I guess they're not 
going to let me enter. I didn’t show up very well 
in the mile; you can't go in and set the pace and 
have anything left for the end. I came in fifth, 
though.” Bobby really looked pleased with him- 
self. 

“All out for the two-mile run!” called the clerk 


23 5 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

of the course, and we went down to the start. John 
Blake was looking blue. 

“It's a long way out to Ohio,” he said ruefully. 
“And the roads are dusty, too.” 

“Fuller's going to run, isn't he?” I asked. 

“Yes, and I don’t know whether that makes it 
better for us or worse.” 

“Answer to your names!” called the clerk. 

There were seven entries there: Carl and Bannet 
of our school, Beckner, Green and another Maynard 
runner, and Fuller and one other Chamberlain 
fellow. 

“On your marks !” called the starter. 

“Hold on, please,” said our coach. “We have 
another man coming. Where's Hart?” 

“Here,” said Bobby, stepping out from the group 
beside the track. 

“Get in there,” said the trainer. 

So Bobby, much pleased, took his place in the 
second line. 

“Get ready!” said the starter. 

“Set!” Then the pistol popped and they were 
off. 

For the first mile and a half a two-mile race is 
generally rather uninteresting; but when the meet 
236 


THE TWO-MILER 

depends on it, that is different. We turned and 
watched the runners jog round the turn and come 
along the back stretch. 

When they had covered a quarter of the distance, 
Fuller was no longer dangerous. He was running 
in short strides and had dropped back to seventh 
place. At the end of the first mile the runners 
were strung out all round the track. Green was 
making the pace. Behind Green was Beckner, run- 
ning with a fine long stride, and almost treading 
on Beckner’s heels was Carl. Carl was not quite 
so pretty a runner to watch as the man in front 
of him. 

Ten or twelve yards behind Carl ran Bannet; 
Bobby was following close. A third Maynard run- 
ner and Fuller were disputing sixth place. A long 
way behind them the last man, a Chamberlain chap, 
was lagging along. And that was still the order 
when the sixth lap began. 

Beckner alone seemed untired. Carl’s cheeks were 
white, and had two spots of crimson in them. Bannet 
was looking pretty well used up, but Bobby seemed 
not yet fagged and hung on to Bannet closely. He 
had never tried himself to any extent in the two 
237 


THE PLAY THAT WON 
miles, but I thought that he was doing better than 
he had done in the mile. 

Getting tired of making pace Green swung aside 
and let Beckner take the lead. Green fell in behind 
Carl, who was still treading in Beckner’ s tracks. 
Then the distance between the first group and the 
second began to open; Bannet was tiring. For a 
while Bobby regulated his speed by Banners, but 
soon he went round outside Bannet and passed him. 
That seemed to do Bannet good, for he spurted and 
kept close behind Bobby all round the track. The 
third Maynard man and Fuller were out of it for 
good by this time, and the eighth man had left the 
track. 

There were only two laps left now, and the shout- 
ing was pretty continuous. Up at the head Beckner 
seemed to want Carl to take the lead, but Carl re- 
fused. That cheered us considerably, for it seemed 
to show that Beckner was weakening. Finally 
Green went to Beckner’s rescue; but he almost 
pumped himself out in doing it, and only set the 
pace for a few hundred feet, making it so slow that 
Bobby and Bannet closed up half the distance be- 
tween them and Carl. Then -Green fell out again 
238 


THE TWO-MILER 

and Beckner was once more ahead, but Carl was 
holding on grimly. 

So it was when they turned into the home stretch. 
The shouting was tremendous now, for the spec- 
tators had left the stands and lined up along the 
track. 

“Last lap! Last lap!” shouted the judges. 

We shouted to Carl to keep it up! And the 
Chamberlain people, who liked us better than they 
liked Maynard, shouted the same thing. Even 
Bobby and Bannet were applauded, and I shouted to 
Bobby to go on and win. 

On the turn Bannet stumbled and half fell, and 
lost several yards; that seemed to take the heart 
out of him. When the runners turned into the back 
stretch, Bobby was all alone a dozen yards behind 
Beckner, Carl and Green. 

About the middle of the stretch Beckner started 
to draw away from Carl ; but he only opened up 
about three yards before Carl was after him. That 
put Green out of it. We saw him wabble once and 
then throw up his arms and go over on the turf. 

“Bobby's going to get third place!” cried John. 
And, sure enough, there was Bobby still running, 
and running strong. 


239 


THE PLAY THAT WON 

But our eyes were on Carl and Beckner. They 
were having it out, and as the turn began Carl crept 
up to the blue runner and tried to edge past ; but he 
couldn’t quite do it, and Beckner held the lead by 
a few feet until they were in the straightaway and 
headed for the finish. Then Carl actually got in 
front. A lot of us had gone halfway down the 
track to meet them and were yelling ourselves 
hoarse. 

“Come on, Carl! Come on! You can do it!” 

The Maynard fellows were shouting to Beckner 
at the top of their lungs. Carl was just about hold- 
ing his lead, when suddenly he staggered, got one 
foot on the raised board that runs along the inside 
of the track, and fell on the cinders. He was up 
in a second and running again, but he had lost 
three or four yards, was limping and was plainly 
exhausted. 'And Beckner, none too fresh himself, 
came on down the home stretch all alone, wabbling 
a bit, but apparently an easy winner. 

“Look at Bobby! 9 * cried John. “Oh, look at 
Bobby!” 

How he ever got there I don’t know, but there 
was that blessed Bobby coming along only a few 
yards behind Beckner and gaining on him at every 
240 


THE TWO-MILER 


stride. Now he had passed Carl; now he was almost 
up to the Maynard man ; and we were racing along- 
side, leaping and shouting, while twenty yards ahead 
at the finish the judges were leaning forward with 
excited faces and their fingers on the “stops.” 

Stride by stride Bobby overhauled Beckner. Now 
he could have touched him with his hand. Now he 
was running even. Now — 

“Preston!” we cried. “ Preston ! Preston!” 

And then there was the finish — Bobby flying 
down the turn and Beckner falling into the arms of 
his fellows. 

“Who won?” I shouted, dancing about in the 
crowd. 

“Hart, by two feet !” said some one. 

And John and I grabbed each other and danced. 

“Hurray!” shouted John. “I don’t have to walk 
1 home!” 

“Did you hear the time?” cried Poole, hitting me 
on the back. “Ten minutes, thirty-six and four- 
fifths seconds ! It breaks the record !” 

We did an unusual thing that Spring. We elected 
a track-team captain who was not a senior. His 
name was Robert Hart. 

d) 


THE END 





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